Catching up in the basement that i call home
dismantling discussions on a piss soaked telephone
i'm all grown up
i've thrown up these feelings lots before
you're sitting in the park while i'm staring at the door enough self mutilation
i've waterlogged and choked one hundred beers
another week ensconced in yellow smoke i'm no devil
i just have these demons keeping me awake
pushing on my go-leg
laughing at cut brakes
the corpse of my motivation hangs in the closet to the comfort of the grave
this coffin's full of nails, rails and pipe and glass
rotting under yellow growing grass
five in the chamber and i'm flying through the air
i've tied my blindfold tightly, i'm cutting my hair
i'm a bullet and a target, and i'm drenched in splattered blood
i've learned my lesson one time but once isn't enough
so dry your hands, wash 'em clean of me
wave your victor's flag on your pile of debris
because when you die like a hero, you live like a slave
i'd rather die to see it change
than live and watch it stay the same where
the corpses of my motivations hang on the gallows
over-ripe with shit like colostomy bags
there's a party in the woods and a dance in city streets
and a rumble down the avenue of fifty thousand stomping feet
and the fire is getting high, igniting sweaty powdered brows
and if he hasn't saved you yet, he isn't gonna save you now
and you're more beautiful than you were on the day that we first met
my angel of the not yet buried dead