Nothing Is Real Lyrics

I was once a tailor. I made expensive things by playing with my thread and my strings. I could make a shirt or a tapestry. No one knew how I played the sewing machine so I went from my place to my home, put a space between me and the blanket I made. I didn't know how to pay off this loan -- a debt to the service I made up, a debt to the people that paid me. I couldn't make a living off these things so I gave them away for free. I can't be a man who lives in loneliness. I don't know how to string together concepts, and the physical bits aren't making it any easier to play and sing and make real things. I was once a carpenter. I played with wood. A small price to pay for freedom, I was cold and misunderstood. I could make the house and the shelf and the whole set. I still didn't know how to pay off this debt. I can't be the man who plays the beats I make, and I don't know how to tie these symbols. The woodgrain and the land on the plains aren't making it any easier to play and sing and play and sing again and again and again. I'm a story. I'm not real. I'm a book on a shelf with some pages and pictures and shit. Nothing is real.

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