matt skiba and his sunglasses (or: help, i'm obsessed with a 33-year-old madman)

(note: in case you were going to comment on how good the shit in italics was, that's actually lyrics from some of matt's alk3 songs. some of the shit not in italics is also lyrics from matt's alk3 songs.)

i feel like this place is bleeding like
it's spilling out of the walls and onto the floor

i wish you would come down here
pull a billie joe armstrong and
kiss me on the mouth
(fine time to fake a seizure.
feel your lips on mine — you're saving me)

and when you told us you'd drunk a bit too much
(sorry i'm late. i was out spoiling my liver.
i couldn't wait. the sun was up
for far too long today.)
all i did was shake my head and laugh because
we both know you're pitiful
(so fuckin' pitiful)

but you smile so manically as you sing about hell
(home sweet home is chicago, illinois, motherfuckers!)
and sometimes i feel like you're mocking me
your shining eyes and your angel face
(with stolen wings and evil ways
straight down south to the pearly gates)

so cool you wear other people's sunglasses inside
and the strawberry frames, they flatter your face
but only because you're so fucking famous
(you're living young and dying fast)
and i can see it in the way you laugh
at the boys and the girls who can't believe
that they're
this
close

goading us like serial killers from forty years ago
(you scared us all to death. if they revive us
just sit there. just smile, dear.)
as we rage and shove and scream and sing
you took us hostage and you're making your demands
and i'm pretty sure we're meeting them but
we're still cutting off our own fingers one by one
just to show you so maybe you will meet our eyes
and our hearts will stop
but matt:

do these shows tend to leave you with a hole in your chest?
at the end of the day, are you fucked up and numb?
can you remember the last time you felt this comatose?
would Christ himself cringe at the sight of your scars?

and i know how you feel about fire but
i've got a better question:
could this be love?

if you're ever in the bath and you find yourself
in need of a radio, just let me know.
i'm plugged in and ready to fall.



mr. skiba, you were the last good thing i ever saw