sometimes i smell doritos

there's no redemption in these songs.
at some point, the lyrics need to change; the material has long been old.
words, words - i need new words.
the last one said i was "comfortable here..."
but i've confused 'comfortable' with 'accustomed', and that is a very different thing. or maybe it's just 'used to'.
words, words - i need new words.

if bleeding tells one he's alive, what does it mean if he keeps picking at the scabs and scars to bleed?
or yeah, like hassan asks, why was it necessary for the man in the story to kill his wife in order to cry the tears that turn into pearls? why didn't he just smell an onion?

maybe we keep poking our old wounds, making them bigger and darker and into cool shapes - not to convince ourselves we are alive, but to prove that we can survive ... even ourselves.
but that's a fool.
that's becoming what she said you would ...
fulfilling her prophesy, not yours ...
making them everything she said they'd be and you nothing more than she.
and that's not surviving.
god, i must demand more.

breath doesn't guarantee life anymore than the sun promises a warm day
(and crying in the shower makes sense).
maybe that's why i prefer the rain.
rain doesn't hide behind clouds or discriminate for shadows.
it may speak in short sentences or long, tedious diatribes,
but it's always wet. it says what it came to say.
words, words - i need new words.