Linoleum
possessions never meant anything to me
i'm not crazy ('cause i've got none)
we'll that's not true, i've got a bed and a guitar
and a dog named dog who pisses on my floor
that's right, i've got a floor
so what, so what, so what?
I've got pockets full of kleenex and lint and holes
where everything important to me
just seems to fall right down my leg
and on to the floor
my closest friend, linoleum
linoleum
supports my head, gives me something to believe
that's me on the beachside combing the sand
metal meter in my hand
sporting a pocket full change
that's me on the street with a violin under my chin
playing with a grin, singing gibberish
that's me on the back of the bus
that's me in the cell
that's me inside your head
that's me inside your head