Multiplier Effect

Cruise control is the only way for me to get home. Cheap beer, cigar smoke and depression don't exactly mix in favor of speed limits. Austin has never seemed so desolate and I want to scream, to cry, to stall my car as it straddles the railroad tracks. Why is there no cliff handy when you need one? And why is it that you won't let me move on? I've fallen and I can't get up. Words are cheap, but so is love. I seem to have run out of both. Is there no bottom to my pit of despair? I'm sick of this self-deprecation, this agitation over all matters concerning you. Hot shot. You think you can hold a beer and a Black and Mild and come out looking cool and sophisticated. I'm losing respect and heart with every word she hears. Go ahead, whisper more sweet nothings in her ears. They'll all turn out to be lies, just like they were for me. Kill me now, sweet revenge. 'Cause I'm still coughing up last night's mistakes. I took a turn for the worse a long time ago, but have yet to stop spinning. Help me play tonsil hockey with his rifle. Three guesses as to who the first one to score a goal will be. Here's a hint: not me. It's never me. I'm down for the count and it looks like I'm not getting back up. But you don't care. You stopped caring the night I turned my back on my morals and illuminated you with my tail lights. Maybe this time, when pedal to the metal causes alcohol to slosh in my stomach and my brain, I'll manage to kill myself and my sorrow. At least you won't mourn. At least you won't hurt.

... And at least, finally, I won't either.