The word lisa

Our pockets turned out
Our change on the ground
Whatever we had is lost in the house
The carpets are dusty
Our bones are brittle
From eating garbage and sitting down

Freaking out again at the supermarket
Putting out of order signs on things that work

Break a piece off that lobby fountain
Our points have been chiseled down
If we could all be happy
At once, there'd be such competition

Jamming paperclips right into an outlet
Walk out with hundreds of dollars in junk
To buy some chips and lay in bed

Whose side am I on?
Second dollar, second cent
We've got life here
What we call life has to be worked out
Left in dust to carry ourselves out
When we get home, we won’t be empty
We found a purpose in each other
Break the mirror, we get younger
Life will always be weird