I think that I was born so I could make this song
And I think you were born so you could prove me wrong
I think that you will point out how these notes are trite
And I'll concede because the critics always right
I'm back to writing but I feel a little static
I've gotten older so I don't feel as emphatic
You know my story yeah I'm just a fucking addict
The market's run its course now back into the attic
On the cusp of my hazy
Fraught and feverish mind
There is not one line vacant
In the synapse of my soul
The house was cold but we had pictures on the wall
To invoke an understanding of it all
Wrong direction led us both into the fringe
Self-deprecating as our minds became unhinged
Striking balance over years of push and pull
Absolved of bedbugs and that dirty fentanyl
Road to recovery an early talking point
New sensations but still broken at the joint
There's no reason for this sapless lack of lack
The medium itself won't keep this space in tact
Messages are shrouded in a caustic mix
Of virtue and of vanity begging to fix
No agenda that brings meaning to this life
Meaning's just a medium for calculated strife
Lawless like Sunyata there's no state to which I'm bound
Until the lack of lack proceeds to burn me to the ground
I'm that stray dog
Leering through the fog
Left out of the ark
Dancing in the dark
Coddled by the tree
Branches like a leash
In the winter light
I'm the blue kite
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
