Its the last day of June
And I can feel the moon
Shimmering like solid steel
And cold to the touch that feels so real.
My expressionless face corrodes to songs
And freckled girls laugh all day long
To crazy faces that are misshapened
And all my chaotic art appears tapered.
And the French girl asks if I'm American
And says " an armchair would go well by the fan".
But I don't listen and unload my van
That was full of worries and simple plans
Which failed soon after they began.
I smell the stench of blood beneath the bed--
It must be hiding something there.
So I take a walk outside, just to forget
And a drowning gambler looks at me and makes a bet.
I don't know and I don't ask what for, because I just don't care
I'm trying to fly away from here so I can be right there.
As I walk I see an old hobo carrying too much
And he Just dropped a flowery black hat
I'll pick it up but never clutch
Because I'm done looking for objects to touch.
I remember my childhood was made up of smells and tastes
From warm, steaming bread to crusty, moldy chairs.
Now every sense has lost its touch and hold on me
And the misery of breathing just wont let me be.
I'm looking for release under the moonlight
My cold misshapened head is ready to fight.
Something comfortable is waiting somewhere
But I don't think thats very fair.
My first love broke my heart and my last love the same
Now im left wondering the train tracks of pain.
I'm staying in France until it rains in Hell
It'll take a while but that is very well.
