Tiny Glowing Screens, Part 2 Lyrics - Cardboard Castles - Watsky

There's 7 billion 46 million people on the planet 

And most of us have the audacity to think we matter 

Hey, you hear the one about the comedian who croaked? 

Someone stabbed him in the heart, just a little poke 

But he keeled over 'cause he went into battle wearing chain mail made of jokes 

Hey, you hear the one about the screenwriter who passed away? 

He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway 

He ended up eating smushed sandwiches they pushed through a crack in the door 

And repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day 

Hey, you hear the one about the fisherman who passed? 

He didn't jump off that ledge 

He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground up towards him really fast 

Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for concrete 

The earth is a drum and he's hitting it on beat 

The reason there's smog in Los Angeles is 'cause if we could see the stars 

If we could see the context of the universe in which we exist 

And we could see how small each one of us is 

Against the vastness of what we don't know 

No one would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial again 

And then where would we be? 

No frozen dinners and no TV 

And is that a world we want to text in? 

Either someone just microwaved popcorn 

Or I hear the sound of a thousand people pulling their heads out of their asses in rapid succession 

The people are hunched over in Boston 

They're starting app stores and screen printing companies in San Francisco 

They're grinning in Los Angeles like they've got fishhooks in the corners of their mouth 

But don't paint me like the good guy 'cause every time I write 

I get to choose the angle that you view me and select the nicest light 

You wouldn't respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter tap tap 

Tapping through my mind at night 

The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue 

And tattered memories of a girl I got to grind on in high school 

Filed carefully on rice paper 

My heart is a colored pencil 

But my brain is an eraser 

I don't want a real girl, I want to trace her from a catalogue 

Truth be told I'm unlikely to hold you down 

Cause my soul is a crowded subway train 

And people keep deciding to get on the next one that rolls through town 

I'm joining a false movement in San Francisco 

I'm frowning and hunched over in Boston 

I'm smiling in Los Angeles like I've got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth 

And I'm celebrating on weekends 

Because there are 7 billion 47 million people on the planet 

And I have the audacity to think I matter 

I know it's a lie but I prefer it to the alternative 

Because I've got a tourniquet tied at my elbow / I've got 

A blunt wrap filled with compliments and I'm burnin it 

You say to go to sleep but I been bouncing off my bedroom walls since I was hecka small 

We're every age at once and tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls 

My mother is an 8 year old girl 

My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed 

And that's the glue between me and you 

That's the screws and nails 

We live in a house made of each other 

And if that sounds strange that's because it is 

Someone please freeze time so I can run around turning everyone's pockets inside out 

And remember, you didn't see shit 

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