I'll write and say same words I've said ten thousand times before Until I don't believe that I believe them anymore Because riding on this carousel means spinning one's wheels into moist ground thought I had some traction but it seems I thought too soon--
So I am off of the rails Off the wagon. Off to nowhere. 'Cuz it's, "Onward, lads, to one more night spent covering ground's familiar footsteps and sheeting snowy sidewalks in the dollars we don't have."
And we'll lay 'em kinda thick press our prints in Presidents pro bono comes advice from the corners we can't heed, but por argento comes the cure we choose to **** our heads with
I'll pick a place, polish my boots get far as my front steps where I'll sit until the summer rolls around and sweat rolls down in sheets
Short sheeted best hopes, shortened thank-you notes and lists of ****** quotes lay around and resonate on floors and facebooks, tabletops in summertime, when it rolls around
But, now, it's winter and we're all 364 1/4 resolutions older --at 33 revolutions per minute, and 16 ounces at a time, we can almost cope.
Now, it's winter and the sheets are still too warm
Now, it's winter and we sheet the snowy sidewalks in Presidential faces in the dollars we don't have and the cure we **** our heads with keeps us safely insane 'Cuz in a world built by psychopaths, the sane don't always last. And, if I'm the last one out?