The Bag

Endless evenings of non-exist Are getting shorter, monotonous Like an intruder, I belong outside Although I find myself right back The place I was before Saying things I've say once more There's no reason for me to be here, no I feel so lonesome surrounded by friends Who are talking about me, saying things I could care less about This dialogue is without Worth, content, significance Conversational ambivalence Hear the same things every night, It just ain't right I'm not the one to hold the bag Give me something I can sink my teeth into Show me a time, tell me a story That I haven't heard a million times before I pass out from boredom As I watch the people pass I see moments in their live, nothing fascinating Are we all living for the past, never realizing We're clinging to an empty bag Lacking content, significance Conversational ambivalence Hear the same things every night, It just ain't right We'll see who's left holding the bag