I used to live at The Monarch Hotel where the days got smoked like downtown hell
I’d know it was Tuesday I would know it was noon because I could hear the sirens wail
Even though it was just a test
The mind starts to wonder and you know the rest
It’s like I’ve got to find myself an easier softer way

Does all good art come from suffering? Not all good art comes from suffering!

Broken windows in the lobby made a mess of you and me
It’s such a letdown that is my hobby

I used to smoke at my Mother’s house by the bottle brush trees where the wasps hung out
I’d know it was Friday, I’d know it was three because the air wasn’t stale
Even though I lost my breathe, the mind still wonders if it is all a test
I still got to find myself an easier softer way

Does all good art come from suffering? Not all good art comes from suffering!

Broken windows in the lobby made a mess of you and me
It’s such a letdown that is my hobby,
making a mess of you and me