Letra de 'Kitchen Sink' de B. Dolan

Moving photos of ghosts
Projected against the chemical smoke
It closes all around me
A taste bitter as paint thinner
Switch the sound off, breathe heavily,
They haven't found me--
Slouched over my desk,
with my head pressing the keys or
Sitting up in bed, scene reflected by the screen
Blood pounding in my temple,
Remote controlled by the feed
Fingers slip between the blinds
This is what I see outside:
vampires. pedophiles. secret police.
Threat levels elevated for weeks.
Feel my blood pressure peak
Before I snap the blinds shut
Heart beating in the darkness,
Eating from the box
Half-conscious, half-life
Full of sad nights spent
Re-running my favorite programs over again
Light glowing on my skin
My face shows no emotion
I sink into the sofa like a city sinking into the ocean.

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?
Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?

Alright then check me out:
Lead paint peeling spreading stains in the ceiling
Revealing rust, dust, roaches and rats,
they make a killing. The smell of death is filling
What remains of the building
53 sq. feet makes my cypher
complete
Whether drooling on my pillow
Or laid out on my sheets
I keep falling, the TV keeps me falling asleep.
The world is mine in my dreams.
I see myself selling myself to myself
I feel like hell and cry for help til I'm held
Until I'm safe in the arms of my home-body
Shut in. Nobody knocks on my door no more
Nobody comes in
Though I'm sure my existance is a topic of discussion
They must wonder what the fuck will be left of the mess uncovered
When they finally take a wrecking ball to my bedroom wall
I will show them all
something.

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?
Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?

I don't go out.
I just wander the halls
Fingers run along the crumbling walls
Sick and deformed like the dip in the floor
The drip in the kitchen's on a mission
to kill me off, I should've died in a crib fire
And will before long. Smoke rising from the old wiring
Ring the alarm
Wish I could decorate the place with the smell of napalm.
Barricade to save face, never answer the phone
Stay away from the shades, try to vanish in the smoke
I no longer know If I'm the cancer or the host
Can't manage to cope without damaging my throat
Used to make plans to go but they cancelled my show
Now I watch Channel Zero for a pattern in the snow
From the clock to the mirror to the carpet full of holes
Things have gone well beyond a job
for pest control...

Is the kitchen in the house? Is the closet in the house?
Is the bedroom in the house? Is the living room in the house?