Standin' on the of the road with a long shadow and suitcases, going nowhere, and I care, I'm a grown man. my own hand, kickin' my own ass for cryin', I'm dyin' on the inside, they don't who I am. Filthy, fraught, and by a guilty conscience, away, and all because of silly nonsense. Gone - God knows when, and I aint comin' knowin' that, no one gives a rat's ass anyway.
I just find a place where I can sit in a rocking chair, no matter how far, even if it means there. I'll get me a dog for some company, it's better tryin' to figure out somebody. me a good book, a radio, and a sewing machine, a in the woods by the ocean and no inbetween. I gotta get rid of these circles and headaches, Maybe if I meditate, rather medicate. I can no hesitate, I get so frantic, but if my wishes are overly romantic. Though, the suns too low in the sky for second guesses I and I'm to taking chances. a few branches, and gettin' lucky now and then, findin' some trouble, was just a of how and when. And now I take notes, and make from Burch bark but stress shows in my face like a birthmark. As soon as I get where I'm going I'm going to wash my thoroughly and start out of bed earlier. it's the way I've tried vicariously, to fly so low to the and so carelessly. How embarassing, I wait to call it quits, knowing more and more tiring is all it gets. I've applied various and strategies, Read a few Greek tragedies and for two weeks. rollin' around in the in the ground no surprise both my are swollen shut, I'm with no supplies.
I a lift...
What have I