The clouds turned into spiny chestnut shells
And when they'd rain down my skin would swell.
And the morning song birds were replaced with crow
And the spiny shelled rain would stick to me like Velcro.

The beat up tin I'd like to call my car
Would deliver me and all to only a lonely barÂ…
And I would ponder this disease like a peeling onion skin striptease
And I would live to let it win.
When I was raw.
(When I was wrong.)

Being way too tall for any self regulation,
I'd invite the devil in and his entire nationÂ…
What in tarnation?
Being way too small to let any angel love me
I would spit on the ground they shadowed
And in the air they flew above me.
When I was raw.
(when I was wrong.)
When I was raw.

It took a year or two
To scavenge what was left.
Now I walk with much more rhythm
Over the mines I might've dug and left.
I was so tainted when I set them
Being blinded from rage.
Now I glide until I stumble
But now they fail to engage.
Mmmmmmmmm