this is not a home this is an apartment surrounded by the things accumulated here this is not a dream this is disappointment pop a cork alone to toast another year baby we could burn so free if only you would turn your acetylene on me sorta like a cell kinda like a prison spend a lot of time in solitary there pamphlet on the door declaring he is risen too far out to know too far gone to care baby we could burn so free if only you would turn your acetylene on me