Here, yet again I am here
Blue with my grandmother’s ghost
Her and I are hanging from a beam in the basement
Upstairs the piano is playing itself
To the chairs and the books on the shelf
I guess I got my pick of a room now that grandma killed herself
The future just can’t be worse than where I come from
I heard there’s better music yet to be sung
Hell, hell is where sun turns ash
No fire that I can tend
Just a bag of my loved one’s ashes to dumb inside the river
Why can’t I cut myself down from here?
I can’t reach the ground from here
And it must be my fault cause there’s nobody left to blame
The future just can’t be worse than where I come from
I heard there’s better music yet to be sung