Christmas night and I was on the couch in an empty million-dollar house.
Got a key from a friend for a place to go if I needed shelter just up the road from the mess of my poison life, the cramped apartment, the hateful wife, and I didn’t even bother turning on the lights. No joy to the world, just silent night.
And I was staring off into empty space, thinking how we misplace our faith, thinking
how devoted and blind we get, thinking how it always ends in regret, and the East Coast is three hours ahead, but I needed to say it out loud instead, so I found your number, made the call. And I tried to say it all.
For every wrong turn that came to be, I made my apology, because I was sick with a fever dream, couldn’t see right in front of me. And the first casualty was you,
and the band, and the house in the canyon too, and I wish that it wasn’t true. I wish I’d saved a thing or two. And I know you tried to talk me down when my head was stuck in the clouds. But how do you drag a friend to the ground? I’m still wondering that now.
Christmas night and I was on the couch in an empty million-dollar house. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights. No joy to the world, just silent night. Merry Christmas, 2009. Maybe next year, I’ll be all right. Maybe next year, I’ll be fine.
from Nothing is Fantastic,
released March 21, 2017
Marc M Cogman - lead vox, electric guitar
Steve McDonald - electric guitar