Words you say never seem
To live up to the ones inside your head
The lives we make never seem
To ever get us anywhere but dead
This is playing through my speakers, an intermediary to the receptors in my head. Fuck it. I'm tired of realizing that I'm so thoroughly to blame. And yet, to let it go seems like a pussy-ass escape, because I am very much to blame.
The day I tried to live
I wallowed in the blood and mud with
All the other pigs
You don't get the image, fuck, the smell of a Los Baños prison cell out of your head all that easily. And to add to the alien wretchedness of it all, I didn't hear a word of english all night. Gringo loco. Demasiado mucha cerveza. At that point, I could really have done without any comprehension of spanish. But all that was just window dressing. The true mindfuck is that sick unsettling bit of guilt, rage and frustration that has just taken up permanent residence in your stomach. You know it's not leaving anytime soon.
I woke the same as any other day you know
I should have stayed in bed
Right about now my lawyer is addressing the court. I feel guilty for that. Shouldn't I be there with him, facing the music as they say? Right now the only music I'm facing is Chris Cornell's attempt to make the bile rise in my throat. Los Baños. Jesus, the place is called the fucking bathrooms. That's a clever one, god. Right now my life is in the process of being flushed down the toilet in some backwater town along a lonely stretch of I5 in the armpit of California.
The day I tried to win
I wallowed in the blood and mud with
All the other pigs
But of course I don't want to face the music. I want to get off. I want the judge to realize that I wasn't driving at the time. I was trying to do the right thing by sleeping it off. Yeah, I was fucking wrong and I know it. I deserve all the worst that the California Penal system has to throw at me. Still, I want to get off. That part of me, I try to suppress it, whispers in my ear: you're just the one that got caught. If you had kept driving, you wouldn't be sitting here trying to retain what little stomach lining you have left. Shuttup, I try to say, but I can't muster much force for my thoughts. Happy Birthday, it taunts me. Oh yeah. Today is my birthday. Whoopdee-fucking-doo.
And I learned that I was a liar
Fuck it. I've learned my lesson like a good little pavlovian dog. You can spew all kinds of morality at me, with all the power of right to back it up, but I'll probably never be able to drink within sight of a vehicle, and not because of the persuasiveness of said arguments. The memory will always be too fresh; the taste of bile in my throat too keen. Ahhh, well. Time to blow out the candles, I guess.
Just like you
The Day I Tried to Live - Soundgarden