Atmosphere - Gotta Lotta Walls lyrics

Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell
Him what the hell is wrong
Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do
But the people that know him know
That it ain't nothing new
Catch five rings, then an answering machine
Hang up on the beep
Stare up towards the ceiling
Stood up to remember that
He slept fully-dressed
So he grabbed his keys and put
A hat on his rat's nest
Stepped up to that big outside
Somebody once said "Today's a
Good day to die" but he never really was a
Big fan of their work
So he starts up the walk by
Kicking sand in the dirt
A friend to the strangers
A stranger to friends
He'll take a coffee and a pack of
Cigarettes when you have a minute
Handle it paid up the change, you keep it
He's a sucker for the morning
Smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd
Ask for some time
Cause he's looking for a reservoir
To empty his mind
And there's only so much he
Can put in a song
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell
Him what the hell is wrong

And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you

No shock value to titillate
Far from shallow, so get it straight
Blacktop, sidewalk, and the street
Cause life is priceless and talk is cheap
And as he sit's
(as he sit's) in his four-cornered room
Following the tune, born to consume
Carefully learning and analyzing the
Lyrics you use
Finally realizing that humility is a bruise
Scared love don't make none
If these walls could speak
They would peep about the fake ones
Watching this man, falling off of this plan-
Underachievin' just so he can understand

"What's up baby how you doing? I hate
The sound of my own voice
And I've been invited here to
Distract myself from the fact
That I wrote all of this garbage"

And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you

So, who did your tattoos? That's nice
And who built your taboos? That's life
If he had a glass pipe
He would smash it and use
It to slash his wrists
But someone already beat him to it
He would fingerpaint you a
Picture with his blood
A self-portrait, dramatic and morbid
But the odds of you finding
Any appreciation are too slim-
Keeps his outlook grim
Tap his foot to the rhythm of original sin
Throw his balls to the wind trying
To knock down these pins
He'll keep swinging from the
Hair above his chin
Till he finds his soul in the fifty cent bin
The price of the payphone escalates
Fake smile when he takes home
One of his dates
He could write another hate-poem
For you to break or maybe stay calm and wait
For that big earthquake
Still surrounded by the fire and the water
Still trying to honor this empire's daughter
Still answering questions you're
Afraid to ask
Still believing that God's gonna
Save his ass

And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you

And if you knew him better
He would ask for some time
Cause he's looking for a reservoir
To empty his mind
And there's only so much he
Can put in a song
He's gotta talk to somebody who can tell
Him what the hell is wrong

So anyway, girl was like:
"Motherfucker, you have a lot of walls
And you know, you don't like
Show people shit" you don't mistake that
You don't mistake that
I just don't like these fuckers
Haven't met too many motherfuckers I like
You one of them i hope that's enough