By Torpedo or Crohn's
Why? Lyrics

Sleeping late, I hear the sad horns of labor trucks sigh.
As I woke up late, I could hear the sound of trucks that belonged to laborers that were making their way to work, which evokes a feeling of the sadness and monotony of such a job.

My neighbor walks by, high heels click dry like half-a-proud horse down Brook.
I can hear my neighbor walking by, and the sound of her high heels clicking on the pavement reminds me of a proud horse, who trots with confidence and purpose.

I hear somebody's babbling I mistook for a cavalry, whispering "victory" to the sparks in their kindling.
When listening carefully, the unintelligible babbling of a person could be heard, which sounded like someone was announcing a victory to the sparks in their kindling, like a soldier would announce their conquering of a city.

But all their green woods wet, and unmet as of yet by the gases of flame, pressing against the pending physics of my passed down last name.
Despite the presence of combustible gases, the green woods are still undamaged, and the physics of the artist's past family history seem to be coming back to haunt them, making things difficult to progress.

Living in the tear between two spaces, condemned; in one of the many places you're not, I am.
The artist feels trapped between two spaces and is being punished for being in one location instead of another, making them feel confined and less than their full potential.

Hiding from my friends in the bathroom at 'ThriftTown' to write this tune down.
The singer is hiding in a ThriftTown bathroom to jot down the words of his new song, which he feels embarrassed about sharing with anyone yet.

Today after lunch, I got sick and blew chunks all over my new shoes in a lot behind 'Whole Foods'.
The singer got violently ill after lunch and vomited behind Whole Foods, ruining his new shoes, causing a feeling of blues.

This is a new kind of blues. And what about losing limb or loved one in a duel dissatisfies you of seems just?
The artist argues that this feeling of illness is a new kind of blues, and wonders about other losses like limb or loved ones in a duel, are they any more or less dissatisfying than his loss that day?

As a kid I did not shit my pants much; why start now with this stuff? And I do not bluff, second caller gests bit by a dog or Jeff Dahmer.
The artist realizes that he didn't have problems with digestion earlier in his life, and wonders why he is starting now. He then proceeds to suggest that someone else is bound to get into trouble, comparing this to a caller of a radio show, who gets bit by a dog or Jeff Dahmer when they get on the air.

Kisses or stitches? No mitt for these pitches. Lone Pone one, master of the cheap pun.
The artist wonders if it's better to be loved or hurt, but either way, you have to deal with it like someone playing ball with no mitts. He then introduces himself as Lone Pone, the master of the bad joke.

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone. But I'd be O.K., cool as a rail, if they'd just let us have health food in hell.
The singer describes himself as someone who needs to be pushed to the limit in order to feel alive, like raw food that is just a bit undercooked, but he suggests that everything would be alright if only the afterlife contained healthy food.

Good heaven's background radiation and the black arts of waiting. Not the same since I switched my hair- part and started shaving. Got hexed-- my hidden hair-gone corners.
The artist remarks about the unchanging radiation present in heaven, and the boredom of waiting that seems to be associated with it. He suggests that things changed when he changed his hairstyle and started shaving, which ended up possibly cursing him, losing the hair in the corners of his head.

Oh, I'll never be a joiner, life long local foreigner, I. Raw-lung, homegrown fake in coed naked choir;
The singer declares that he will always be somewhat of an outsider, someone who can never fully be part of a group, he's someone with imperfect lungs, faking it as a coed choir member.

second tenor, highest rise, blessed clever compromiser. I'll be proudly mouthing 'watermelon' every song.
The singer boasts of being the second tenor, who achieves the highest notes, but he also takes great pride in mouthing the word 'watermelon' in every song.

I put the phone to my ear but all I hear's a dial tone. Will they map my skull and wrap my bones when my wig is gone?
The singer wonders what will happen to his remains once he's gone, he puts the phone to his ear but all he hears is silence, and he considers the possibility of his skull being mapped and his bones being wrapped.

No. I'll go unknown by torpedo or Crohn's, only those evil live to see their own likeness in stone.
The artist prefers to go unknown by death from a torpedo or Crohn's disease, believing that only evil people achieve a kind of fame that allows their likeness to be carved in stone after their death.