Signed us up. One more round.
Stagger through another year
of attrition, searing heat and self-effacement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
This city's getting small.
I've gotten mean, you're getting old.
But your cold feet won't save you
when you're dancing on those coals.
The verdict's been returned,
it seems they're moving to convict.
And I can't really blame them anymore.
Every Summer it gets hotter
than a crooked priest's Hell.
But we're shaking while we sweat
with too much time that's left to ****
'cuz it's ****** in the courtroom
when the judge cracks a joke.
But you've heard this ******* punchline before.
Here we go, one more time.
Keep it fluid, keep it light
as you're waltzing through these streets that aren't your friends now.
You've got so much love to give,
I won't say what I've done with mine.
But there's no such thing as rest
for tired, old clowns.
Light me up, then play me out.
Stumble through another year
of attrition, mounting bills and self-debasement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Signed us up. One more round.
Stagger through another year
of attrition, searing heat and self-effacement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
This city's getting small.
I've gotten mean, you're getting old.
But your cold feet won't save you
when you're dancing on those coals.
The verdict's been returned,
it seems they're moving to convict.
And I can't really blame them anymore.
Every Summer it gets hotter
than a crooked priest's Hell.
But we're shaking while we sweat
with too much time that's left to ****
'cuz it's ****** in the courtroom
when the judge cracks a joke.
But you've heard this ******* punchline before.
Here we go, one more time.
Keep it fluid, keep it light
as you're waltzing through these streets that aren't your friends now.
You've got so much love to give,
I won't say what I've done with mine.
But there's no such thing as rest
for tired, old clowns.
Light me up, then play me out.
Stumble through another year
of attrition, mounting bills and self-debasement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
Request permission to use this poem