Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2 Lyrics
| Song | Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2 |
| Artist | Watsky |
| Album | Cardboard Castles |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 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 away? | |
| 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 concrete | |
| 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 exist | |
| 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 again | |
| 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 catalogue | |
| 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 planet | |
| 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 got | |
| 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 failed | |
| 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 |
| 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 away? | |
| 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 concrete | |
| 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 exist | |
| 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 again | |
| 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 catalogue | |
| 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 planet | |
| 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 got | |
| 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 failed | |
| 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 |
| 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 away? | |
| 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 concrete | |
| 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 exist | |
| 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 again | |
| 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 catalogue | |
| 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 planet | |
| 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 got | |
| 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 failed | |
| 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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