screaming into the wind

morning breaks over the midwest. a silent, lonely porch swing rocking, the television glows. another night spent crumbling, just listening to you moan. you monkey with a microphone. your redundant, useless voice, constantly a dull and distant noise. you're just screaming into the wind. you're just screaming into the wind. i'm focusing my hate. but it's hollow, unsubstantiated. you're an easy mark, and i just need a target right now. i can't face myself. i can't honestly own up to who i am. i'm just screaming into the wind. i'm just screaming into the wind. guilt is relative. so is sin. it makes it easy to pretend. a bicycle is humming and it's carrying me home. the sun is red and headed for the west. i'm finding ways to rearrange me. i should be content, but i'm still terrified, cause i can't tell a realization, a rationalization, or nostalgia from regret. oh no. i'm just screaming into the wind. i'm just screaming into the wind. guilt is relative. so is sin. it makes it easy to pretend.