Tiny Glowing Screens Part 2 Lyrics

There’s 7 billion 46 million people on the planet
And most of us have the audacity to think we matter
Hey, you hear the one about the comedian who croaked?
Someone stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke
But he keeled over ‘cause he went into battle wearing
chain mail made of jokes
Hey, you hear the one about the screenwriter who passed
He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got
stuck halfway
He ended up eating smushed sandwiches they pushed
through a crack in the door
And repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about
talking dogs 'til his last day
Hey, you hear the one about the fisherman who passed?
He didn’t jump off that ledge
He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground
up towards him really fast
Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for
The earth is a drum and he’s hitting it on beat
The reason there’s smog in Los Angeles is ‘cause if we
could see the stars
If we could see the context of the universe in which we
And we could see how small each one of us is
Against the vastness of what we don’t know
No one would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial
And then where would we be?
No frozen dinners and no TV
And is that a world we want to text in?
Either someone just microwaved popcorn
Or I hear the sound of a thousand people pulling their
heads out of their asses in rapid succession
The people are hunched over in Boston
They’re starting app stores and screen printing
companies in San Francisco
They’re grinning in Los Angeles like they’ve got
fishhooks in the corners of their mouth
But don’t paint me like the good guy ‘cause every time
I write
I get to choose the angle that you view me and select
the nicest light
You wouldn’t respect me if you heard the typewriter
chatter tap tap
Tapping through my mind at night
The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue
And tattered memories of a girl I got to grind on in
high school
Filed carefully on rice paper
My heart is a colored pencil
But my brain is an eraser
I don’t want a real girl, I want to trace her from a
Truth be told I’m unlikely to hold you down
Cause my soul is a crowded subway train
And people keep deciding to get on the next one that
rolls through town
I’m joining a false movement in San Francisco
I’m frowning and hunched over in Boston
I’m smiling in Los Angeles like I’ve got fishhooks in
the corners of my mouth
And I’m celebrating on weekends
Because there are 7 billion 47 million people on the
And I have the audacity to think I matter
I know it’s a lie but I prefer it to the alternative
Because I’ve got a tourniquet tied at my elbow / I’ve
A blunt wrap filled with compliments and I’m burnin it
You say to go to sleep but I been bouncing off my
bedroom walls since I was hecka small
We’re every age at once and tucked inside ourselves
like Russian nesting dolls
My mother is an 8 year old girl
My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just
And that’s the glue between me and you
That’s the screws and nails
We live in a house made of each other
And if that sounds strange that’s because it is
Someone please freeze time so I can run around turning
everyone’s pockets inside out
And remember, you didn’t see shit

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Songwriter(s): George Watsky, Kushagra Mody

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