there s a building in the city where my money goes where i stare at blank walls unlearning all i ve known i m so sick of paying tolls and driving home in the fucking snow no one grooved up to your casket in those funny clothes jesus died for nothing i suppose i don t want to be your radio tuning in to any station you might like that fits your selfish needs on winter nights when you would call me on the phone to validate all of the stupid selfish reasons why your house is not a home and this house is not a home no this house is not a home it s all just skin and bones without you my mouth will never move in the right way on saturdays and on sadder days i ve had the company of one or two of few and true but never you and this house is not a home no this house is not a home it s all just skin and bones without you