he (the singer) likes to write out how he feels in a journal, as songs, poems, or whatever (writing reports of the days and the nights). his mental state (depressed most likely, perhaps manic depression since his songs are so good) has locked him up for years. he tried to understand himself by sitting at home alone, in the dark, listening to music and writing (with a net of nothing (alone, introspection only)) he was trying to figure out who he was (motions of a mind).
he totally missed everything and everyone that was good in his life while he was like this (never saw the chance, never what i held in my hands).
he looks out over his modern life (which has allowed him to reach this state--no need to get up with the sun, no need to hardly move at all for days at a time), he sees everything is dead (all lights are red, nobody going anywhere). of course, the modern world kills him (killed by exhausts) and its features that allow him to stand it also kill him (alcohols, which likely are being abused here, dry out his skin). drying out of the skin also, likely, refers to the fact that the alcohol makes him something other than what he really is (sucks out his life) and turns him into someone else entirely. it's not his fault, he argues (that's the condition and the price that we pay for living when and how we do now). he also knows that his mental depression is his to get over, if he chooses to do so (i never had a clue of the role that i played).
he (the singer) likes to write out how he feels in a journal, as songs, poems, or whatever (writing reports of the days and the nights). his mental state (depressed most likely, perhaps manic depression since his songs are so good) has locked him up for years. he tried to understand himself by sitting at home alone, in the dark, listening to music and writing (with a net of nothing (alone, introspection only)) he was trying to figure out who he was (motions of a mind).
he totally missed everything and everyone that was good in his life while he was like this (never saw the chance, never what i held in my hands).
he looks out over his modern life (which has allowed him to reach this state--no need to get up with the sun, no need to hardly move at all for days at a time), he sees everything is dead (all lights are red, nobody going anywhere). of course, the modern world kills him (killed by exhausts) and its features that allow him to stand it also kill him (alcohols, which likely are being abused here, dry out his skin). drying out of the skin also, likely, refers to the fact that the alcohol makes him something other than what he really is (sucks out his life) and turns him into someone else entirely. it's not his fault, he argues (that's the condition and the price that we pay for living when and how we do now). he also knows that his mental depression is his to get over, if he chooses to do so (i never had a clue of the role that i played).