Deja Vu

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People You Meet Outside of Bars

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Four more doors and a keycard 
Several floors, all these new guardrails 
Between the street and home 
Between the street and home 
Home, home 

Still trying to define it, still trying to find it 
Still trying to define it, still trying to find it 

And I'm spending even more time googling ulcers, feeling nauseous 
I think my body is fighting me; how could I blame it
An unreliable narrator dry-heaving in an elevator 
Don't adjust your dials, it's not deja vu, it's just the same shit 

Trying to mark what is just me 
And what's sparked up by my disease 
'Cause if there is a line 
If there is a line
I'm, I'm 

Still trying to define it, still trying to find it 
Still trying to define it, still trying to find it, find it 

Carpet fibres underneath my fingernails and bits of greasy scalp and hair 
Like bass lines under looping questions
Can I walk without stumbling? Can I talk without mumbling
Can absolution come without repentance, just confession

If I die before I wake 
At least I won't be as shaky 
My hands would finally still 
My hands would finally still 
Ill, ill 

But my cat greets me at the door when I get home after work 
And I wake up to his purring body curled near my ear 
His love, of course, is gratifying, and equal parts terrifying 
Christ, there's a life in my hands, I need to stay here

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