Caterpillars from Well Soon by Walter Mitty and his Makeshift Orchestra

Caterpillars in the cracks of my head
Fucked up but functioning fine
I'm still unsure if your dead
Still tell your jokes like their mine.

Here in the Void, we're scraping meaning from our made up meta-beliefs like band-aids off the post-ironic blues we battle.
Well, the funeral proved that I still can't cry.
The closest I get is little puddles in my eyes.
And the eerie eulogy was the very best part it went, 'oh well whatever'.

So now I've started a cult, to validate faith.
I write my own prayers now to my own set of saints.
It keeps your feet in the curl, and at the very least, grace makes your stay in this world much more comfortable.
Here me now, Saint Dana, you've a lot of explaining to do.
Without dreams right in front of your face it seems you feel a lot more real than I do.

• Acoustic
• Pop Punk
• folk
• folk punk
• slop