Eighteen Inches - The Lawrence Arms

Face down on the ground

Storm clouds lie in white snow piles all around

I don’t know if I can make it through

One more winter in this town

Voted worst in show the last two years

Got a refill on my tears

Another bottle

Of foam-yellow clear

An old man twitching on the train

Reminds us of mortality

The snow everywhere

Reminds us of the rain

And my burned and brittle skin

Cracked and blistered in the wind

Is testament to repetition

As the impossible happens again

So, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Take off those ten unsightly pounds

The snow is piling higher

And your face is growing closer to the ground

Raising your glass at the office party

Photocopy your secretary’s ass

It’s no more pathetic

Than our self righteously self important tasks

Of barfing rhetoric on shiny table tops

As our collars and turtlenecks choke us right there in the coffee shops

Winter will not wait for you

Ironically, your worst fear has come true

Pontification means nothing

When I woke up and looked around

I found my dreams had melted into dirty puddles on the ground