The Bag

Endless evenings of non-exist



Are getting shorter, monotonous



Like an intruder, i belong outside



Although i find myself right back



The same place i was before



Saying things i'd say once more



There's no reason for me to be here, no



I feel so lonesome, surrounded by friends



Who are talking about me, saying things i could care less about



This dialogue is without



Worth, content, significance



Conversational ambivalence



Hear the same things every night, it just ain't right



I'm not the one to hold the bag



Give me something i can sink my teeth into



Show me a time, tell me a story



That i haven't heard a million times before



I pass out from boredom



As i watch the people pass



I see moments in their lives, nothing fascinating



Are we all living for the past, never realizing



We're clinging to an empty bag



Lacking content, significance



Conversational ambivalence



Say the same thing every night, it just ain't right



We'll see who's left holding the bag


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