The Bag

Endless evenings of non-exist
Are getting shorter, monotonous
Like an intruder, I belong outside
Although I find myself right back
The same place I was before
Saying things I'd say once more

There's no reason for me to be here, no
I feel so lonesome, surrounded by friends
Who are talking at me, saying things
I couldn't care less about this dialogue is without

Worth, content, significance
Conversational ambivalence
Hear the same things every night , it just ain't right
To be left holding the bag

Give me something I can sink my teeth into
Show me a time, tell me a story
That I haven't heard a million times before
I pass out from boredom as I watch the people pass

I see moments in their lives, nothing fascinating
Are we all living for the past, never realizing
We're clinging to an empty bag

Lacking content, significance
Conversational ambivalence
Say the same thing every night, it just ain't right
We'll see who's left holding the bag