lirik lagu hotel books – death is a terrifying thing
death is a terrifying thing
i don’t know if it just means i’m getting older, but every day just seems more real
i don’t dwell on it like it’s a monster under the bed that’s out to get me
i have much more reverence than that, i-i just fear it
like i fear god
but, death has become another taboo topic
where simply asking questions is considered ignorance or considered stupidity
but, the problem is, when i was a kid, i come from such a big family
so it means that a lot of people died in my life
and even though i’ve been to a lot of funerals, i still don’t get it
i still don’t understand what happens
and i definitely don’t understand why we have a ceremony for it
i was told it was to celebrate life, but we did that when they were living
so when i die
burn my body into ashes and use them to fertilize the tree in front of the funeral home that used to be my church
the one across from the car dealership on henderson in porterville, california
the one next to la mission de jesus, and make sure the tree hears you say
“you brought the most joy when i was a child, because you provided a place to exist outside of the walls i never understood”
and promise me that the tree will someday die too so she can see me again
i still get caught up thinking about death i’ve seen
when i heard my grandmother died, my mom didn’t say
“hey, grandma’s dead” or “sorry, son, but grandma’s p-ssed”
she said, “son, your grandma’s with the lord now”
she then continued, “she’s no longer in pain, she’s no longer sick
she’s finally at peace, she’s finally happy”
i guess if i was there during her final breath
i would look at her and say
“thank you, your happiness gives my pain a purpose, i love you”
and my quiet resentment
turns to love i lose
i forget what you said
i forget what you meant
quiet resentment
turns to love i lose
i forget what you said
i forget what you meant
i forget what you meant, i’ve been choking on nothing
choking on nothing again
hoping for something
hoping for something to captivate my head
death is real, i don’t need an augmentation of the way that i think
it’s easy to feel its embrace when your hands are on the edge of a cliff
looking at the brink of your own defeat
and you’re afraid of real failure, so you live for fake success
you try to trace behavior in your own tattered dress
hoping you’ll be in a pine box long enough to feel alive
the irony is it’s the only way that we can still fight
but the moments that you’ll never have back
i can tell you what i love, but i can not tell you what i lack
from what i’ve experienced and what i think i can feel
you can’t believe in love, if you don’t believe that death is real
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