Types

There's a difference between what you do and what you know is right
I've got a creeping melancholia stealing over me tonight
Now every time I strike a match it's to light another joint
Think of all those numb evenings to which we were lost
I can only get my kicks these days from watching bad TV
It's a great comfort to me


We never really tried that hard, but we're both thankful for
All the friends that we have made somewhere down the road
I'm sorry that I am this way, and I'm sorry you got hurt
I promise that I'd intervene if I had another chance
Until then I will read and re-read
The words that you sent to me


I'm inured these days to the thousand words you say that I am worth
All the empty signs that we pass by and that we disregard
I've been living in the stories you told to keep us both warm
And I'd spend the night translating my word into yours
I prayed today, But I still don't know who it was that I prayed to
Maybe words don't count for much any more
Maybe words don't count for much any more