What you’re feeling is a nightmare. What you’re feeling has no roots. What you’re feeling has no right to be there, standing in the doorway with your boots. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. What you’re saying doesn’t count. What you’re saying is that no one ever loved you or needed you, in this town. Come home. Watch our souls. Watch our souls move through power lines, all the time, ‘cause I know we’re just energy, put together in a way that fits. Today, something snuck up on me. I felt so very lucky because it made me happy. I’m not sure what it really was, but I’m holding tight because I, now, am very happy. Yes, happiness is my favorite thing to feel. It must have been when you smiled at me. Maybe, it could be that we made it through some bad stuff. I would always like to be happy, but it, sometimes, can’t last. We hopefully get enough. Yes, happiness is my favorite thing to feel. Yes, happiness is my favorite thing, yes, happiness is my favorite thing, yes, happiness is my favorite thing, yes, happiness is my favorite thing to feel. Bucking against me, in the cold morning, you are immensely warm and adoring. Your small tongue, the fluidity of your kiss, crater-lake pupils, your forehead sweating, I'm holding you close, and we are getting excited. You're timid with what you can't say. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you: The ecstasy of pining over the unconquered pales in contrast to the finish line and continuing further. You and I would have forever wondered. You and I could have lightning and thunder. It's raining inside both of our hearts. It's raining inside both of our hearts. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you. I'll say it for you: You love me. Every time you go away, I get scared, even though I know, wherever you go, I'm there. And, when I try to sit you down, and try to tell you I care, it always turns into a speech about how life's not fair. Tiny vodkas on a plane, reality's our show. Don't even try to harmonize. Just sing the same key with me. And, please, put up with me. At least, look up at me, when I’m down. And, then, you’ll fall. And, I’ll come around. And, then, I’ll fall. And, I'll come around. If I could stop writing sad songs, I would. I would just grow up and be happy; it would be so good. When I'm feeling like a stranger in my own neighborhood, I don't know. Scanning pastures for the goats, we pass my dad's old school. Don't even try to harmonize. Just sing in the same key as me. And, please, put up with me. At least, look up at me, when I’m down. And, then you’ll fall. And, I’ll come around. And, then I’ll fall, when you’re down. And, then I'll fall. And, I’ll come around. And, then, I'll fall. And, I'll come around. I knew, it was you, it was you, coming through the TV screen. Where you are is a faraway star. You’re a light particle in a laser beam. I don’t know if you are a ghost, a god, a spirit, or electricity. I pray your soul to rest in peace. Please, be kind when you come haunt me. Please, haunt my dreams. Come haunt me. Please, be my ghost. Be my ghost. Be my ghost. Won’t you, please, be my ghost. Be my ghost. Please, haunt my dreams. Come haunt me. Please, be my ghost. I saw you at the ice rink, on my old camcorder; it's all out of order. I saw you at a state park. You had some headphones on. You were singing a song. And, I can't recall it all, but it went like this. I've seen you at roller rinks. I think you wanted me. I think you wanted me. I've seen you in picture shows. I think you wanted me. I think you wanted me. And, I can't recall it all, but it went like this. Fireworks reignite campfires in my terrestrial heart. Aliens reunite empires under ghosts of abstract art. Halloween begins on haunted planets in the spiritual galaxy. And, you should be afraid that you’d never see us again. Trick-or-treats shatter on sidewalks in my terrestrial dreams. Cigarettes scatter on old rocks under those UFO beams. Halloween begins on haunted planets in the spiritual galaxy. And, you should be afraid that you’d never see us again. Oceans by day, postcards at night, in hospitals, no one feels right. At the counter, exclaim to me, wireless router by the TV. I’m here to make you feel real. You’re real. You’re real. You’re real; I promise you. You’re real. Your eyes wander around the world and you wonder if you should curl up and just die. You are the champ. I wouldn’t lie. Turn on the lamp. I’m here to make you feel real. You’re real. You’re real. You’re real; I promise you. You’re real. Will you be the one to save me? Will you be the one that gave me courage to turn around and make me save you from the world and stuff? And, I can call your bluff. And, you can call me anytime. Will you be the one to one to scold me? Will you be the one to hold me, when I’m drunk? Do you remember when you told me that you were my best friend until the very end? And, you can call me anytime. Let’s go. Let’s hit the road. Let’s listen to The Beach Boys and feel some real joy. Miss me when I’m away. Is this freedom? Are you okay? Come with me and let’s have a day that’s void of guilt. And, you can call me anytime. Will you be the one to fetch me? Will you be the one to catch me when I fall? Will you be the one to test me and make sure I don’t fail and I don’t go to jail? And, you’re never not there for me. I thought I’d never have what we’ve got. And, I love you a lot. And, you can call me anytime. I own the sun. I own the moon. I own the stars and trees and galaxies and everything comes back to me and, now, I am in tune. I own my life. I own my death. I own that everything’s an accident and every single small event is in between my breaths. I own a bike. I own a car. I own some things that, if you take from me, you will agree, I won’t get very far. But, I’m okay. You can throw me out, on the street. Take what little that I have, until I can’t even eat. ‘Cause life is just a short, small dream; I don’t care if I wake up fast. ‘Cause I own everything I see until I am free at last. A new Christmas Tree, an old apartment, having a party, people came and went. Record player's broke, Grandma's quilt's okay. I'm happy with you, on this holiday. One of my favorite things to do is having people over, including you. Please, don't think I don't love you, if I'm busy in the kitchen. In Los Angeles, or in Brooklyn, now, I can't stand to live anywhere without you in my same space. I think you are the best. Let's open up a case and make this into our nest. One of my favorite things to do is having people over, including you. Please, don't think I don't love you, if I'm busy in the kitchen. Please, don't think I don't love you, if I'm busy in the kitchen. Life is bitchin.' Are the spirits coming in? Is it them, and where the hell have they been, flying through power lines or UFO Heaven? The father, the son, and the holy alien, the ghosts who love us float above us. God is an alien. The ghosts who want us always haunt us until the very end. If I built a time machine, would I go and see what it all means? Would I know reality from dreams? Would I grow, or would I run and scream? The ghosts that haunt us really want us to be better than them. The ghosts that haunt us really haunt us. We’re haunted until the very end. Are the spirits coming in? Is it them, and where the hell have they been? Is God an alien, in a UFO heaven? Have I sinned, or am I born again? The ghosts that haunt us really want us to be better than them. The ghosts that haunt us really haunt us. We’re haunted until the very end.