7/8

I got bounced off track with a sickness
That made it past so fast that I’m still trying to kick this
And let the bones set
Find my own breath
Work the kinks so my words don’t get mislead
Poor in the texture
we mean no less than to test and impress
I do must confess
That a higher place, sir
Can’t be made, no
We’re on these rations but the bass gives it taste, so

One by one by one
We scream and we shout it out
One by one by one
We count up the pieces
One by one by one
They fade as we overcome
One by one they’re done
And we count them

Like arithmetic
It bounced down ‘till I was sick with it
It bit my mind like a liquorish
It’s all so logical
It’s so lyrical
This tragic flaw is satirical

But born to grow old and to tire
We misbehave
While we love and expire

But we would only live so long
That we would only ask beyond What We could only fear
As long as it was an option
But born that I could only see so long
As all that I could ask beyond Was my fear
If that was the question

And when it got so bad
That I could walk no more
With my feet so tired
That the soles were sore

And when it got so low
That I could feel no less
With my thoughts so tired
In this

Sounds
I can bounce and pronounce to it
Make my accounts to it
Fiend and announce to it
As I count them up

Sounds
I can make my allowances in it
Display my own talents in it
I can feel in amounts of it
As I write them up