Stocked up, locked up In my sanctum *******. Got *** and cigs and cheap wine; For me that makes a quorum. I hope no friend comes by Acting all hale and hearty. They're not inside a moment Then they call up Dial A Party.
Then suddenly my place Plays host to all the bums Who have nothing else But the strength to come And just sit on my couch And then eat up all my food Drink all of my ***** While slurring words like “Dude!”
Now, I'm not anti-social But I am not Donald Trump Who has plenty of cash To entertain these humps. If they only brought something; A six-pack or some **** I'd find an excuse for them; Some lame reason or need.
So, these days I read And keep the stereo off. I don't turn on the lights. Hell, I don't even cough. I hide out in the bedroom Just me and Sam *****, Seriously reconsidering The kind of friends I've made.
Tore down the banners set fire to streamers I was certain that behind all the gaudy decor was was something more all I found was a wall it was something but nothing much.
Words are like lines, You can mold them, You can draw them, Pictures are formed, Colors bleed through, They are mine alone, No one else has the lines, Inside my mind, Only I can twist them, To carve my pictures, And so I paint them, Everywhere I step.