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Riding home from work tonight maybe I'll get hit by a truck along the intersection where Duval loses its bike lane. Just south of Oakland, maybe tomorrow. Still wasting time in kitchens cleaning up the restaurants; eating shitty every day, feeling shitty every day, from a steady diet of whiskey and water, because I never liked bubblegum or pop for that matter. Root beer ain't quite the same for picking up corpses off the side of the road, and I'm in dead corpse now. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up in Oakland. Riding home from work tomorrow maybe I'll snap when some fucker yells from his car. Maybe my bike will be caught in his axles and maybe while he's spinning I'll yell from the curb, "no YOU get a life," Oh wait, it's too late.
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I think I can sniff out politicians even when they're cleverly disguised. Boots and piercings and tattoos don't fool me because I can see through that and I don't trust anyone over thirty with a mustache.This one guy that I met, was full of fucking shit. Everyone like that I've laid my eyes on just adds a tally to the number of the people I despise on. So I'll slink into this corner and sip this whiskey in my cup, cuz it'll give me time to think, and I'll wash it down with this fruity drink until the alcohol in my head makes me want to break someone's fucking legs. So i walk home in the rain and as I pass it on the street I'll raise one appraising finger to the cross and sing, "Happy Fucking Birthday".
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Someone told me to put down the guitar and they told me to drop the pencil. Those things are too sharp, they're dangerous, they will hurt you, they said. But the only real pain comes from the promises made without my permission. This time i think I'll do it of my own volition. It's such a shame that we must decide between an ocean and a well when really water's all the same. If I drink from your cup will you drink from mine? Can we share more than a transcript or a pick-up line, or a stencil? Cause I'm not a fucking stencil. I'll work on tuning my guitar, you work on sharpening your pencil.
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I want to make this go faster. Everything is toppling, and the bombs have started dropping. I, on top of the tallest building, falling ever faster now, subject to your gravity, oh baby.
This will be the coldest era if I don't find that warm place. I know it is inside you, but you're too high to touch.
I have been sighted and one shot will burst right through me, baby. This is hardly worth singing, but I've got to feel something, and when it burns me, I think it's all I need.
This will be the coldest era if I don't find that warm place. I know it is inside you, but you're too high to touch. Yeah, you're too much.
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I have built a cage. Its iron bars effective against any deception other eyes might see in mine. My thumbs are growing sore from showing compassion to everyone. Cannot cock this gun aimed at my own head. If I could just smoke and not burn for a while I could worship my charred remains and (in that way) live a little longer. My fingers are growing sore from holding on to these iron bars too tight. Cannot show anyone this bird that I've got, this fucking middle finger. If a holding cell is the only way to prove an iron will, I'll just let myself burn. Burn like Chicago, burn like the Hindenburg, burn like Gonorrhea. Burn right through this fucking life. Burn through this life and sleep well in hell.
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When I was a kid I went to shows and skated on the streets for long stretches of time. I saw kids like me but fucked they were huffing and puffing and blowing it away this little life they had devised. Living their nicoteen dreams, dying with its lies. Now it's all the same and nothing matters anymore, everything is fucked. Yeah, skate tricks are for little kids with better knees than me while I sit here choking, bleeding out my lungs from the smoking. Living my nicoteen dreams, dying with its lies. My lungs were meant to take a breath, but instead I'm hacking up a cigarette death. I don't ride that straight and narrow line anymore, now I'm looking up from my spot on the floor. Living my nicoteen dreams, dying with its lies.
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I like that you don't give a fuck, let's take a ride in that old green truck, now. I remember the last time, I got so dumb, drank a bottle of that coconut rum. Around the fire, those train kids with guitars, had a lot of fun, but didn't go far. Busted my ass trying to shred the gnar. You bring us down with the metal sound. "You're dope-laced blood shows me new highs", glaring at the yuppies with our bloodshot eyes. Hanging on the roof with skeletor, summer Tallahassee can be such a bore. Using the world as our internal pisser, getting high to the Electric Wizard. "Your dope-laced blood shows me new highs", glaring at the yuppies with our bloodshot eyes. With our bloodshot eyes.
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These creditors have got it out for the skin off my back, five minutes of my time is more a moment of resentment than a compromise. Like the words of the mother contradicted with threats, yeah the world all around me is stuck with this shit on their shoes. Have you heard the news? Theirs a war going on, and they're breaking our ranks, steer clear of the flank, it'll trample and caress all at once, yank the life from right under you. Disenfranchised, disillusioned ones, that's what you get, and I'd like to know who's taking the bets because that slice of life wasn't worth five minutes of my time. Those wasted years weren't worth five minutes of my time. Cause I've committed lots of mother fucking crimes, like the words of the father, contradicted with lies. That slice of life wasn't worth five minutes of my time.
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We go through rough times sometimes. These songs are about living and fucking up.
