Dysphoria from Dysphoria by Edward Coles

Above the fire trucks, caught on the west wind,
Is this heaven or is this hell?
Is this dystopia, some kind of mind-fuck
With the misaligned out in droves.
In this fallow state of dysphoria,
In this halogen white glow.

If I could break out
Through the ceiling
I could find my way home

Amongst the bread crumbs
Of all tomorrow's parties
Make a feast of chewing gum and apple cores

Cough up a lung sat at the piano stool
Strive for beauty in this ugly world
I guess my final words are just a homage:
Yeah this world is not my home.

In this fallow state of dysphoria
in the lunatic fringe, I roam
If I could break out
Through the ceiling
I'll be slouching my way home

Through the fiery trenches where the arbiter stands
With Saturn on the shelf and Eros in his hands
The Eye of Horus sees right on through my life
What will he decide?

Above the fire trucks
Caught on the west wind
Is this heaven, or is this hell?

• Conor Oberst
• Folk
• Leonard Cohen
• Tom Waits
• lo-fi
• singer-songwriter
• Rugby