I Haven't Even Started With You

How does it feel to have enough?
Is it like washing your hands, elbow deep in the tub —
You take soap and water, take hand one and two
Rub them together, and at some point you’re through?
But that’s not even true, the dirt never comes off —
You can wash them forever, and it’s never enough
My hands are filthy — that’s nothing new —
But I haven’t even started with you
Is it like when your friends tell you you’ve had enough —
They take you aside, all grave and serious?
Oh, at the time, you swear they are wrong —
How can you keep drowning with nothing to drown on?
But you wake up the next day, and the sun is too bright
And your skull is too small, and you know they were right
I can’t think or talk straight — that’s nothing new —
But I haven’t even started with you
How does it feel to have enough?
To know that you’re done? To know you’re all filled up?
How does it feel to have enough?
Is it this loud? Or this loud? Should I keep turning it up?
Till your ears start to bleed — till the neighbors complain —
Till I get what I need — till you’re screaming my name
How does it feel? God, I wish I knew
I haven’t even started with you