I am a poor, tired boy flailing in an airborne grave.
All the tattoos that you gave to me have faded away.
But the rest for the reckless will come someday.
I'm out of line cuz I'm out of lines.
I'm out of lines cuz I'm out all the time
Swinging from the vine like a damned baboon.
There is a name for the way that I move.
This is the mo'fuckin dance of the doomed.
I found your stash let's go get high.
Let's go hide out behind this grocery store all night.
One for me. Two for you.
Three and four I secretly do.
Five makes me so sick.
But seven makes this sickness stick
And boy it's always sticking to me.
