The Good Times Used to Kill Me

In the long hot summer nights
 And in the cold dark winter days
 In the clear hours of the early morning
 And in the late night drunken haze
 I keep on seeing things in the corner of my eye
 Like this guy in an old baggy T-shirt
 Smiling like he grasped something that
 That the rest of us didn't understand
 The way he will stand completely still
 While the people just walk on by
 The girl on a bike, probably on her way home
 The girl in a car talking on her phone
 The phone girl does not see the bike girl and hits her
 And the bike girl makes a sickening sound
 As she hits the street and the people scream
 And the sad man is standing
 Slack jawed in line for potato, sifting through his pockets
 Coming up old bus tickets and grocery store receipts
 Droopy eyes and baggy black jeans
 It's his first time in Oslo
 A pretty boy on one of those cruiser bikes
 Is checking his bed head hairdo in window
 While he talks to beautiful girl
 It's something about the wine and Portugal
 And the wild man is blocking the way
 Of a businessman doing his spasmodic dance
 As he screams,? Take a dump in my head
 Take a dump in my head?
 We all come home to empty beds
 It doesn't matter if anyone's there or not
 And we all come home to chock full heads
 It doesn't matter what we do or what we got
 We all come home to that silent voice
 That keeps on talking
 And we try to cancel it out
 But it keeps on going
 Keeps on going like a drone
 The good times used to kill me
 The good times used to kill me
 But now I am good at killing time
 Yeah, the good times used to kill me
 Now I am good at killing time