Watsky, K.Flay - Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2 lyrics

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