The jackals are closing in, is there a way to enjoy the better pleasures in life? Coming from a saint dressed in canvass trapped waiting for insignificance, So put on your dancing shoes cuz theres gonna be a lynch mob tonight, and his last words will be pushed onto the back burner by the sound of crickets in the field, and owls in trees, (as the days go by, I will challenge my wingspan, I will learn to fly, if we ever end up dead in this place) Well friends the copy machine's out of toner, and we're hanging out to dry in a red room, on the 7th floor of the musty hotel, God can you hear me? Its us, the worms from the dirt, we pray to you to give us eyes, cuz we have been blind for far too long, blind for much too long
