Birds In Row Walter Freeman
Doctor please, I need a new hope. The more I run, the
more the track becomes a living hell paved with regrets.
I’ve been looking for some help. The smiles in the
streets they scare. The hands on my back they f..cking
weight. The picks in my head they help, I believe. Shake,
shake, shake, shake. The wine, the whiskey, they became
discrete pills. The ice pick, a remedy. I’ll never find a
way to wake up. And here comes the mourning. I give up
the steel is already in. Understand, you’re the last
chance I take to die. And I don’t wanna die. Who cares
about real questions giving you the doubt you need? I’m
tired of thinking of what I could get to drop out. I’m
alone now, I’m the same ol’ trap. Longing for a sand box
smile to come back. I feel left being, on and on the same
glass, and the bottle is down.
