Time to write down my mingles with the mid-life
White lies from the high times with young minds that want to die
Sly elders that try hard enough to fucking cry
Just reply that it’s all state of mind
Fuck that, I can’t shake my head
And get it back on track
Where’s my share?
My little pitch to little mister
Little cut?
Hey! What’d I say?
“Of course”

I fooled the system with issues non-existent
And ears that would listen to smiles that would glisten
Fists kept on kissing the sisters with intentions
While I straddled fences and acted so tense
Fuck that, I can’t cut the slack
And bring the history back of all I’ve created
With you on your deathbed
Next to the horse head
Staring back
“Of course”

When I feel it, I try it from up above
My water discovers an ancient love
Your heart breaks

Mexican skyline
Suns of frustration
Rise at the foot of my bed
The nuclear flowers
That she picks for me
Always seem wilted and dead
Flow, ebb

As the tequila
Flows through my system
I’m making friends with the floor
When the squid’s happy
Up on W. Hill
Sobriety becomes a chore
Lowest tide

Why don’t you feel?
Or can’t you?
Don’t feel

Empty
Empty
Empty
Empty cup