Shrouding all the ground around me. Is this holy crow above me. Black as holes within a memory and blue as our new second sun. I stick my hand into his shadow to pull the pieces from the sand. Which I attempt to reassemble to see just who I might have been. I do not recognize the vessel, but the eyes seem so familiar. Like phosphorescent desert buttons singing one familiar song...
Eat a bag of shit you suck
I can't believe the luck you have
It's not bestowed upon me
And my pants are falling down
I would have another drink except it might be poisoned by my mind
And my pants are falling down
I don't know what you've been drinking but pour another one for me
My pants are falling down
The room is spinning around
My stomach is making funny sounds
I'm falling down, I'm falling down
f*ck you, I hate you is all she said
As she slapped my face and spit beer on me
And my pants are falling down
And she said, you're a no good, ugly, dumb, stupid punk rocker with a bad haircut
and your pants are falling down
I don't know what you've been smoking but pack another bowl for me
My pants are falling down
The room is spinning around
My stomach is making funny sounds
I'm falling down, I'm falling down
My pants are falling down
The room is spinning around
My stomach is making funny sounds
I'm falling down, I'm falling down
