I stole Tom Waits' s little black book today. Only to please the likes of the devil himself.
For all I am is a product of a desire , a vessel of deceit aloft a wandering seat.
Along this trip all I recall is the swindles and the swagger that I portrait-cant be me unless I sit still and talk, seeking only leads to loitering.
One Glass of wine, two whiskey shots im a mad man surfing on the line.
My Guitar lays in the grass, scratched and broke my camera's in the shop
' I got sunshine on a sunny day.. But its cold out in the month of may..'
bugs fly around me and my clothes soak the sun and sweat-
Cheese apple and bread carries my weight - I'm slowly deciding what I am
One Day i'll decide my hair ain't fallin out, my face ain't pimply and my skin isnt pale
One day i'll wake up , drink two cups of coffee and fall to the floor.
We all struggle and we all ache and we all pay for it when the bill is served.
No comments:
Post a Comment