Wasted and wounded, I still adhere to wishing to be some new state
This country made his compatriots buried in the mud
This county slived hopeless ones until they broke into crumbles
This street has no vision,
It’s useless to bond each shambles together, rife with unrecognizable blood stains and toils
No one can creep into the dragon’s nest and see the deflective meanings on his unsharpened teeth anymore
I’ll die here against my will, and I’ll stock myself in a pine box
And collectors gonna collect me someday, so I’m not here to judge

Everyting’s primal, all the pride’s esteemed
My gun sleeps like a hunter’s, my pleasure gets lost
My deeds are tangled, time lays in a deathbed
My loved ones are ghosts, slaying themselves and wearing skins
I’m an antique sculpture that stands still in an antique pose
I got punched by so many weathers that keep changing still
Amongst so many individuals that think they have a style of their own, I made my stand
I’m broke down like a fortune globe but yet not broke in pieces
And collectors gonna collect me someday, I know I’m not ready

I have not to call someone that I think I scarsely know
“That’s not the real news” would be said,                                 “These not the real words”
Plenty things wouldn’t be dawned on if they’re not forgotten
Swear to god I’d know they’re true but they were stigmatized by the realities and brokenness
I’d know it’s fine to get involved in something I feel that I don’t know
Now the best I can is the worst they can’t, the tapsters got stiffed, too many thing’s wrong
And the first break of day turned to be the last spark of ray, I can’t even tell myself that the day’s done
******* collectors gonna collect me someday
I’m pretty sure

The sheriff eats his last supper, he’s going downsouth
He missed his target for 28 times, 24 times he lost attention
Neighbour mumbles :”frankly dear, I don’t care”, now I think he’s freed of wrong tries and right mistakes
Now he thinks he tries his last wrong chance to leave his girl hung on a crucifix, he knows she won’t die
Some details changed about the things fellow citizens talk about, they miss the closures for the each drag-to-death breath, they miss the infinity
They miss the times they would never know they’ll go astray
I’m blinded and I’m bored, far away from the grave-of-soul shores
Collectors gonna collect me someday, and I don’t give a ****

Fies, lo and beholds, invitations to a brought-down loneliness by a downtown girl
Fies, honking mouths and screaming seats
These streets got a lotta work to do with late-night loudmouths
They tuckle and thumb the gaps on the after-rain grounds under the scrapped magazine papers
Over the jacuzzi of draining blackness, under the trees, under the vast, they seek pubs and jobs
As a fact of no matter, I don’t sleep better compared to two days ago
My bed’s not cold yet, blackmen still arresting the quiet ones of bad-aftermathed jigglers at the blue ridge
Oh, baby, somebody’s gonna collect me someday
I don’t care

Slow-going wheels roll further
Slow men walk the earth chewing french fries
Slow night diminish slow, with an embarked illusion
Slow me, drinking slow, from the bottle that no shining fear dive deep down
With ******* my life dangles, my hands weak and wildered
With somebody in my mind, I slowly, subconciously **** myself
Somebody betrays somebody, denies her name, or his
Denies the carnaval-looking blur of a dreadful pain
Carnavals, haven’t been to carnavals for years, but I know how they dismay
I’m aware of myself at some degree, it satisfies me for I can look up and stray
I’m aware of the passion of my source of pain, yet I don’t know
It makes me shiver like an aimless stone
Pain walks upon the geography

Slow rhymes mask my voice through an unwalked scenery
Slow songs hit my soul like the smell of gasoline, each night, tonight
Tonight I struggle to find my bed in guilt of missing one more day, being loss of control on one more chance
One more glance, I prayed my dandy days to be, yet I don’t believe
And I don’t trust in anything that I admire, that I’ve never had, tonight especially
My abilities burn, burn, burn to a crimson coldness, I can neither get cold nor freeze
Every dismal day has something to teach, but I’m stone deaf and blind since the birth of my criminal being
Said that I’m one old tryer, one slow man that died earlier, living via senses
I’m breathing for nothing, as I sensed, at least that’s a good thing I guess
Tonight, I’m breathing my own graceless dirt, I’m breathing someone that will become me of some other kind
Pain barks its all greed

I was told of slow massacres of liberty, and I saw it with my bare eyes
I was told of slow tensions that could shape an affair from my fears of love, but I didn’t mind until the time I got clipsed to the iron bars as I tossed to someone’s wall
I got clipsed to myself all along the snipers’ castles where the mushrooms just fix to die, the point I always teased myself
There’s always been slow approachings to a mind’s eye felony
There’s always been a slow matter of time to catch the agony of others’ existence, even when I appreciated with someone that didn’t mean to mean good, or meant to be fine
Decades sewed blisters on my elbows, knees, my manhood, my ******* manhood
And my functional sides started not to make a beneficial man out of me, it’s clear tonight
I see a barroom right across the buildings in front, it boils with such huge river of crowds, but I don’t really want to walk there because of pain
It pours my skin down to the ground like as an axe shaving me off me
The air’s already blue now, blue as a kidnapped kid’s wishes from the little circle of life
I’m blue but I can’t get mixed up to the airwaves as long as I try to sharpen myself
I try to sharpen myself with the most lobed piece of stick, and this causes everything I abandoned to be a nightmare in my sleep, and my daytime ramblings, and it causes a killing pain
Pain disregards

Slow strings of reality judder this up that down, clang all the faith one man has once althrough his wasted life
Slow links of chain drags the cruelty from the claws of a cryptic eastward state
There’s no boundries through from everything I know to nothing I don’t know
Idols and spooned clowns look the same, sleeves of lies put them onto an act and they resurrect on my small buzzing TV
Everything can make a man commit suicide, as far as all I’ve learned from life
As far as I can teach, amountless glasses of whiskey solves that if someone looks for an easy way out
To get away from the streetlamps that targeted you, to brick up some brand new shelter against the interrogations, to be on the lam, to run, slowly
To leave the other sycophants on the midway, to break some glasses, to craft some endless rebellion, are the other options I guess
To bless someone that don’t even care, and then the lifelong heart attacks...
I don’t pay to much to my custody of survival, I have my own property on this sphere
I can pull out some dignity, as I have it on my mind, and this just gives men like me pain
Pain doesn’t tell much these days, it just attacks and attaches and grabs me by taking firm steps towards my bones
The unbreakable threads of my shadows push me to same pathetic nosedives, tonight I feel it intensively, befriending with pain
Pain, it speaks my eulogy
Slow pain, it wrecks my fantasies