wrangling wild horses with my toes in the rope

holding a smoke, i lay back and enjoy the drag

i may be broke, praise the fact that i employ the flag

burners on frieghts make it hard to watch the road sometimes

looking for a place to stay in barbershops with open signs

soaked in wine, booze smoking wisdom

now i'm the right mood to hold the rhythm

i hold some wholesome women

pick up the old six string and write a song for false imprisonment

but i never shot a man and i never been to reno guess i'm better of demanding plans of ????????



there's a veteran of this monster

who wears the heads of a hundred fathers

and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers



my rudder's locked for the evening, ship still sailing

crushing into docks when i'm sleeping

don't mock the meaning and i won't stop dreaming 

while i'm off eating more than i can fit my mouth around

this sound has lost its leaning

often feeding on its own young

so what's the cost of fleeing if you don't run

now no one is as beautiful

as a rainy season making love to a funeral

for the dead-dreamers, and the slave drivers, this is cecil otter forever

fever for the cave-lifers, and stage divers, and cage fighters



like this oat sleeps in the acorn, that ghost sleeps in the new born

i slit the throats to keep my cave warm in hopes that it keeps my true form somber



there's a veteran of this monster

who wears the heads of a hundred fathers

and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers



this house is haunted

it was built over burried axes

this couch, i'm on it

still sober barely active

carry caskets that some are calling dead weight

they're of the falling (?) type eating dough before the bread bakes

my head aches and it pains me to medicate it

but until i learn to brave the road alone i'll stay dedicated 

if my bed is made with an audience in mind

it'll most likely fight me off with the fists of time

i don't miss the finer things in life anymore

designer rings were just knives, ready for the kill

ready for the score, how many whore their skill

how many warm their soul with the will of an author



there's a veteran of this monster

who wears the heads of a hundred fathers

and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers



like this oat sleeps in the acorn, that ghost sleeps in the new born

i slit the throats to keep my cave warm in hopes that it keeps my true form somber



						     



						     Thanks to doomthefucktree!