|
Sitting in a square room |
|
My voice is freezing |
|
And the beams that are bouncing off the moon |
|
Are hanging from my window like icicles |
|
Just a tired old alcoholic, waxing bucolic |
|
Shivering and homesick |
|
Staring at a wooden floor |
|
Staring at a wooden floor |
|
Last night |
|
I nearly killed myself |
|
Chasing rum with rum |
|
There were crows flying all around my head |
|
And I sure caught and ate me some |
|
Funny how |
|
I alienated |
|
Those who |
|
I was trying just so, so hard to impress |
|
Now half those fuckers hate me |
|
And I'm just a fool to all the rest |
|
Why do I insist on drinking myself to the grave? |
|
Why do I dream about cozy coffin? |
|
I had all these plans of great things to accomplish |
|
But I end up purely pathetic more than often |
|
Sitting in a square room |
|
My voice is freezing |