Gotta lotta walls

Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephone Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do But the people that know him know that it ain't nothing new Catch five rings, then an answering machine Hang up on the beep, stare up towards the ceiling Stood up to remember that he slept fully-dressed So he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat's nest Stepped up to that big outside Somebody once said "Today's a good day to die." But he never really was a big fan of their work So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt A friend to the strangers, a stranger to friends He'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minute Handle it. Paid up. The change, you can keep it He's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage If you knew him better he'd ask for some time Cuz he's looking for a reservoire to empty his mind And there's only so much he can put in a song Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong