Pocketing

In the pockets of my old jeans
 Are all the things that I might need
 It's cash and coins and nails and string
 I keep my courage in my pocket
 I keep my armor and my strut
 With lint and fingertips and change
 But I lay down
 And feel the creeping crawling feeling
 As it all just slips away
 Give me time
 It's a slow drift motion
 Condoms, nails and guitar strings
 They migrate slowly round the room
 From bed to floor and back again
 I keep them within reach
 The nails they are tell-tale
 Where I keep the knife
 Is all they ever seem to need to know
 So what is this?
 A gift a shelf an open box?
 Consolidation it is my enemy
 I am cancer creeping
 Crawling feeling
 I am hard to remove
 Rooted deeply
 I am dreaming dreaming
 Nightmare screaming
 I'm thinking of my
 Leaving
 ♪
 In the pockets of your old jeans
 Are all the things that I might need
 It's cash and coins and nails and string
 I kept my courage in your pocket
 I keep my armor and my strut
 Right next to space for fingertips and change
 But I stand up
 And feel the creeping crawling feeling
 No gift like that of gravity
 To keep my conscience clean
 But I stand up
 And feel the creeping crawling feeling
 No gift like that of gravity
 To keep my conscience clean