Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell

by The Flaming Lips

I was waiting on a moment but the moment never came all the billion other moments were just slipping all away I must have been tripping just ego tripping I was wanting you to love me but your love it never came all the other love around me was just wasting all away I must bave been tripping just ego tripping I was waiting on a moment but the moment never came -- but the moment never came --

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I'm in from the cold now and off the phone. I wish I weren't such a crocodile and knew how to cry anymore. I don't think any of you understand that I don't have tears. I'm like the extremely hung-over individual who can drink a galon of water without peeing because the body just soaks it up. I feel the build-up for crying, but it doesn't come. The last time I cried was out of worry for my brother. Perhaps love of the fraternal type is the only kind that can evoke the extrication of my toxins.

I want to weep for me. I want to mourn my own self. I want to give my body a good belly-aching wail and deluge to cleanse me of my sorrow.

It's just utter sorrow.

(Every event in my life is good these days. I am not subjected to torture. I live happily and love my days.)

I am sorrowful for what I don't have, though.

I'm living against a blue-screen waiting for the Great Film Editor in the Sky to splice me on top of some action-background.

I'm not coming home, you know. We're not just waiting this out. This isn't an adventure, this is me being alive at HOME in a new home. There will be no more Michaela in Tennessee. I'm irrevokably and intimitately attached to New York City and there is no exit ramp. The highway continues farther from Tennessee, from my little blue house, my little green car, my little brick college, and the people. None of them are replaced, but my life doesn't facilitate those things. If you don't call me, don't write, don't visit, then I will slip away from you. If you miss me then know it will only become worse, because I'm not going to show up at the first party of the summer announcing my return. I will not resume my spot on your couch or in the passenger side of your car.

I haven't found anyone like you here, and I'm up for staying in touch, but not for squandering my good ideas on your listless, drunk recollections.

Someday I will find one like you here, and that's where my time will go, and you will wonder what the fuck just happened.

How did Michaela get so far away?

I though she would have come back by now.

Does anyone have her phone number?

YOUR picture still hangs on MY wall, though, because I understand how to cherish things that aren't going to be held anywhere other than my memory anytime soon.

Stay warm.