Ashtray full of butts
Lighteers empty as ****
Bottles cludder my room
Clothes scattered around
My music is the only sound
Art that id like to burn down
Oh the simple pleasures
My mind is stuck in a daze
Havent showered in days
Smell like **** just a bit
But what the point when you stuck in you own haze
A flannle and sweats that my sundays best