flies circlin as i'm breathing in smog
gravel in my throat making me choke
with a voice that sounds like a bullfrog
I tried calling for help but just croaked.

If all my lies were miles my tongue could pave tiles on a path all the way from  home to heaven or hell
I must have come off course where the road forks, no time for remorse, oh well.
Call me silvertongued i could make monks buy trunks full of ladders with no rungs, but i've got nothing left to sell.

and the devil could do just as well

it doesn't matter now,
however much i wish and pray,
or vow that I'd go a different way,
I keep inching forward every day but I think I've gone astray.

And I long for a place to stay,
somewhere i belong,
I hope to find it someday.
But it's not today.