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WATSKY : Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2 lyrics

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

WATSKY lyrics : "Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2"

There's 7 billion 46 million people on the planet
And most of us have the audacity to think we matter
Hey, you hear the one about the comedian who croaked?

Someone stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke
But he keeled over 'cause he went into battle wearing chain mail made of jokes
Hey, you hear the one about the screenwriter who passed away?

He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway
He ended up eating smushed sandwiches they pushed through a crack in the door
And repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day

Hey, you hear the one about the fisherman who passed?
He didn't jump off that ledge
He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground up towards him really fast

Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for concrete
The earth is a drum and he's hitting it on beat
The reason there's smog in Los Angeles is 'cause if we could see the stars

If we could see the context of the universe in which we exist
And we could see how small each one of us is
Against the vastness of what we don't know

No one would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial again
And then where would we be?
No frozen dinners and no TV

And is that a world we want to text in?
Either someone just microwaved popcorn
Or I hear the sound of a thousand people pulling their heads out of their $$#es in rapid succession

The people are hunched over in Boston
They're starting app stores and screen printing companies in San Francisco
They're grinning in Los Angeles like they've got fishhooks in the corners of their mouth

But don't paint me like the good guy 'cause every time I write
I get to choose the angle that you view me and select the nicest light
You wouldn't respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter tap tap

Tapping through my mind at night
The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue
And tattered memories of a girl I got to grind on in high school

Filed carefully on rice paper
My heart is a colored pencil
But my brain is an eraser

I don't want a real girl, I want to trace her from a catalogue
Truth be told I'm unlikely to hold you down
Cause my soul is a crowded subway train

And people keep deciding to get on the next one that rolls through town
I'm joining a false movement in San Francisco
I'm frowning and hunched over in Boston

I'm smiling in Los Angeles like I've got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth
And I'm celebrating on weekends
Because there are 7 billion 47 million people on the planet

And I have the audacity to think I matter
I know it's a lie but I prefer it to the alternative
Because I've got a tourniquet tied at my elbow / I've got

A blunt wrap filled with compliments and I'm burnin it
You say to go to sleep but I been bouncing off my bedroom walls since I was hecka small
We're every age at once and tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls

My mother is an 8 year old girl
My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed
And that's the glue between me and you

That's the screws and nails
We live in a house made of each other
And if that sounds strange that's because it is

Someone please freeze time so I can run around turning everyone's pockets inside out
And remember, you didn't see %#@!

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