Ballad Of The Last Six Months Of My Life Songtext

?did you hear that clicking on the line??

?yeah it happens all the time.?

?so I guess we must be doing something right.?

I said to her ?my songs are all a lie

I won't write another 'till the day I die.?

She asked me ?why?? I said ?I don't know it just feels wrong.?

she said ?well then write something new

something made of me and you.

something that's free from the background noise of the machine.?

then she said ?every song you write can be a folksong.
so long as everybody can sing along and you

don't mind if they sing a little out of key.?

I said ?how do you know me so well??

she said ?we're all just the same in the end.

we just try to play the game as best we can.?

?as best we can??

?as best we can.?

I said to her ?this place is a machine.?

she said ?I know cuz I have seen what it has done to you

from the embers in your eyes to the bottle in your hand

I want you to know I understand

why you had to die

why you had to lie

so many times before.?

I tried to transcribe my desire

threw my guitar into the fire

okay I lied it was just the fireplace

no it wasn't lit, in fact the truth is that it

has not seen flames in so many years.

but at least my eyes saw tears

as they went streaming down your face

and we watched the wood and wire rest on brick

as I started to feel sick because I knew you knew I knew

that tomorrow I'd be back

singing songs about Iraq, telling stories of train tracks

that I have never walked along

so I'll write for you a song that's called 'honesty'

and I'll tell you to give it up

because it's just an empty cup

and when the whiskey is all gone it just picks up and moves right on

like every drifter that you've kissed

and every greyhound that you've missed

and every lunar eclipse

when the shadow of the earth is plain for all to see

the fruits of this economy.

the earth is a black hole; it's just a crater in the moon

an empty promise that he'll call back soon.

it's the most ancient of songs

the revolution that went wrong

when we forgot what we were fighting for

and we were passed out on the floor

when the cops broke down the door

they were confused by what they saw

so they went back to their cars.

told eachother ?we could take 'em, but they're sleeping so why wake 'em??

then one cop came back inside and left water by our sleeping heads

because he knows how it feels to try to drink yourself to death

and he knew that we'd need it in the morning

and then suddenly without warning, the house burst into flames

and he carried us outside where we slept for three more days

we woke up and looked around the house had burned to the ground

and I was starting to feel free, when you said look and see

my guitar was lying next to me

so I picked it up started to play

and we sat there for the whole day

in the ruins of a prison we had built for ourselves

of rhetoric and cigarettes

empty bottles empty threats

and a thousand gallons of spray-paint.

now all up in flames.

so all we could do was laugh and claim it for the ELF

we burned ourselves out of our home

so that we would be free to roam

and I could start writing songs about wishing I had a bed to call my own

wishing I had chains, wishing I had a home

because I lie but I am not a liar

I'm just so fucking tired

of being a slave to liberation

a servant to the fire.

because fire's not alive it just does its best to pretend.

but we all know in the end

that it's just a parasite like a smoker asking for a light.

it can't live without some help

but then that's what it means to be a live

even when you're DIY

doing everything yourself gets lonely sometimes.

and how I wish that you were here

so I could spit upon my fears

grab you by the hand and go underground to meet the man

who whispers in my ear

and tells me that I should give up hope

that this is just my teenage angst

yeah? well I'm almost 20 years old and the end is not in sight

maybe it's around the bend, near that sign that says ?The End?

I guess it doesn't matter since this train shows no signs of stopping.

it's headed straight for nowhere

but I hear it makes a brief stop in the South Pole

that's where I wanna go:

where honesty will kill you because it's honestly 65 below.

but before you freeze to death

you can read the writing in your breath

and see it was written by some ass;

no you're not really on a train; you're just skipping class.

that's the closest I can get to the freedom of a kiss.

I held my dreams in my hand

and I crushed them when I made a fist

to shake at the machine that deprives me of my sleep.

this place is like a movie-set. the actors all have their regrets

and the camera sees it all from where it's hidden in the wall.

and it thinks we're all insane for not using our real names

as if they didn't know what we do and where we go.

so I'm a little paranoid, well i'm just a little boy

playing games with walkie-talkies in the streets.

when the weight of all our feet made cracks in the cement

and we could see what was underneath

and it wasn't the beach

it was just the livid truth that I had lost my youth.

I'm older now than I have ever been before.

and time keeps marching on despite the teargas and all the orders to disperse

and things keep getting worse, or is it always just the same?

we declared war on standing still.

so long as we keep moving things will

get better someday.

so lets wait for the chorus to come around again

then throw our fists up and pretend

that our voices will be heard

when everybody knows the words

and sings just like the birds

that used to live in the trees that once stood

where this basement now explodes

and we all have punk rock shows

and everyone's too drunk to listen to the bands

but the singer understands

he knows he's just the soundtrack to the progress of our deaths

and singing is just the mechanics of breath and melody

it's a verbal remedy.

but I'm still so fucking lonely

and I really can't remember what was wrong

when I sat down to write this song

because that was so very long ago.