The Good Times Used To Kill Me

In the long hot summer nights

And in the cold dark winter days

In the clear hours of the early morning

And in the late night drunken haze

I keep on seeing things in the corner of my eye

Like this guy in an old baggy T-shirt

Smiling like he grasped something that

That the rest of us didn't understand

The way he will stand completely still

While the people just walk on by

The girl on a bike, probably on her way home

The girl in a car talking on her phone

The phone girl does not see the bike girl and hits her

And the bike girl makes a sickening sound

As she hits the street and the people scream

And the sad man is standing

Slack jawed in line for potato, sifting through his pockets

Coming up old bus tickets and grocery store receipts

Droopy eyes and baggy black jeans

It's his first time in Oslo

A pretty boy on one of those cruiser bikes

Is checking his bed head hairdo in window

While he talks to beautiful girl

It's something about the wine and Portugal

And the wild man is blocking the way

Of a businessman doing his spasmodic dance

As he screams, ?Take a dump in my head

Take a dump in my head?

We all come home to empty beds

It doesn't matter if anyone's there or not

And we all come home to chock full heads

It doesn't matter what we do or what we got

We all come home to that silent voice

That keeps on talking

And we try to cancel it out

But it keeps on going

Keeps on going like a drone

The good times used to kill me

The good times used to kill me

But now I am good at killing time

Yeah, the good times used to kill me

Now I am good at killing time