I'm feeling happy;
I know how hard that is to come by,
and I should be grateful,

I am.
In a way.
But I feel happy,
I feel good,
but at the end of something is nothing,
what's at the end of nothing,
what's at the end of nothing?

Something's missing.
I don't know what it is,
but something's missing.

It's a good day.
Sixty degrees, sun beams,
melting snow adorns the streets and yards
of people who live out blinded lives,
and the sky is the kind of blue
that makes you think of
robin's eggs
better things.

I can see it through a window,
I can walk outside and feel it,
but written in the clouds is fa├žade,

Something's missing.
I think I know what it is,
but something's missing.

People are cheerful
and that includes me, you know,
but it drips off of me like condensation
and eventually I have to run out and see what lies beneath,
because the breeze can only last so long,
you know?

The grave-digging has stopped;
This hole feels filled,
but it's filled with perishables and conveniences
the things that won't last.

Something's missing.
I feel that I can see what it is,
but something's missing.

It's the world outside and in
and I study it with a watchful eye no matter what it tosses.
Driven through the circuits of a network of normalcy
but when you run too much current through,
the circuits fry,
and then what happens?

I'm connected
and I can't stop receiving
and I can't stop giving
and I can't stop hitting the red switch
and turning it back on.

Something's missing.
I know who it is,
but something's missing.

Everyone around me is blind to it,
and I guess that's good,
in a way,
because they don't have to obsess on it.
And the few who know what I mean
still don't know what I mean,
except for the one who knows,
but can't understand.

And it's a guilt trip that I'm taking,
fueled by those behind me and,
of course,
the one who's lying next to me,
and means the world to me,
and he's the driver.

Something's missing.
I know who she is,
but something's missing.

I just have to play it strong,
because there's only a few years till my strings are gone.
They'll be snipped,
they'll wear out,
they'll snap,
but one way or another, they'll disappear,
and I'll be freshly polished and ready to make my way down the stage.

This is meant to prepare me.
That's what they all say,
and I guess,
in a way,
that's true,
and I need it. So I'll wait, all the while knowing

Something's missing.
I know where she is,
but something's missing.

And we'll find each other,
or reunite,
or however fate guides it,
because you know that destiny is just a bunch of cogs
that someone occasionally throws a wrench into.

I'm stopped up, sure,
if you want to call it that.
And I might be a bit green,
and a little bit red,
and a little bit black,
and my yellow fades away.
If you want to call it that.

Something's missing.
And I know that pretty soon
it won't be missing anymore.