Morning breaks over the Midwest. A silent, lonely porch swing rocking, The television glows. Another night spent crumbling, Just listening to you moan. You monkey with a microphone. Your redundant, useless voice Constantly a dull and distant noise. You're just screaming into the wind. You're just screaming into the wind. I'm focusing my hate. But it's hollow, unsubstantiated. You're an easy mark, And I just need a target right now. I can't face myself. I can't honestly own up to who I am. I'm just screaming into the wind. I'm just screaming into the wind. Guilt is relative. So is sin. It makes it easy to pretend. A bicycle is humming and it's carrying me home. The sun is red and headed for the west. I'm finding ways to rearrange me. I should be content, but I'm still terrified Cause I can't tell a realization, a rationalization, or nostalgia from regret. Oh no. I'm just screaming into the wind. I'm just screaming into the wind. Guilt is relative. So is sin. It makes it easy to pretend.