But, I’m an Artist

Once again I stayed up late/ So I could have another drink
A sly way for me to pretend/ That I’m a diggin’ deep thinker
Or is just another way/ For me to skip out on sleep
Where my dreams are just some sad fantasy island of a drinker

But isn’t this how art is made, exploring the hours we ignore
Emotions we rarely taste, with the precision of a tinker?

When I consider that someone right now is dying
And I’m here telling myself that I’m probably lying
And all the screamers in hell, ticklish with their violence
It’s hard for me to ignore the world’s perfect silence

Then the minutes go unheard/ Friends and family start to seep in
Another hour with this word/ I think it’ll lose its meaning.
The colors take their shape, my loneliness starts to sink in
Goddamn it’s getting late but my eyes have stopped blinkin’

Is this how art is made? Exploring the hours you abhor?
Emotions can lose their taste, maybe I should stop drinkin’

How I’ve tried to bury it all away/ It’s not like I really have something to say
Maybe someone will notice it today/ Who the hell knows? It’s coming out either way

Then the eyelids start to drift, another wasted evening
Should I even write this down, right now I could be dreaming
But if I don’t finish this here, it’ll never start breathing
She turns over in bed, such an empty feeling

This is how art is made, another creaking floor
An artist’s masquerade, I guess this is believing