Ken Mode Batholith
Awaking to half-clogged sinuses and
That familiar feeling in my guts
Variations on a recurrent theme
Could exhaustion be the cause of my
Gastrointestinal predicament?
Or do I simply loathe my daily cell that much?
I choke, I choke down
This morning, every morning
Towels to bruised shins
And a crisp shirt later
The road is taken
Finely prepared sustenance
In the hopes that if I prepare it with care
The gurgles in my belly will finally cease
Too tired from the old routine, too tired, too tired
A firm belief is placed in the fact
That coffee is all that gets me through
Or do I simply loathe my daily cell that much?
I choke, I choke down
This morning, every morning
Towels to bruised shins
And a crisp shirt later
The road is taken
To a numbing punchline
Spinning my wheels
Until the week draws to a close
Rinse, repeat
Waiting for the snow to fall
Or do I simply loathe my daily cell that much?
I choke, I choke down
This morning, every morning
Towels to bruised shins
And a crisp shirt later
The road is taken
