Little Saigon

just when the cold of the day creeps in
i'm all alone, and for the most part
that is ok

then there's the turning in my stomach
and i want to be pissed
but i can't, because it's a worthless anger
and i have to shrug my shoulders and say
"oh well..."

because the drugged out punks
who tossed aside their angst
for ecstasy and mushrooms
forgot all about the struggle
and were right
and they were wrong

yes, none of this matters
but neither does the escape
the music, the drugs or the fucking

it's always a death
where a rebirth is required
but yet there is the living
in between everything
and beyond the silent steps
of our minds
we creep along gladly
into our studio apartments
to die alone
one last time