?nd did i mention that there are still those days
|
where i can hardly lift my head up from the pillow
|
or looking out the window of the plane
|
rooting for disaster
|
sometimes i just run out of reasons
|
but the clock keeps ticking and the minutes keep coming
|
and all i can do is rise to slaughter the hours
|
let the air out of these days
|
killing time
|
staring into corners or at strands of her hair
|
waiting for the call that tells me where to next
|
wishing i could trade these stupid words
|
for hollow point shells
|
before every move that I make equals check-mate
|
did i just say her?
|
this song is not for her
|
no matter what i?e said or longed for
|
or that her name still moves along these walls
|
lives in this pen
|
(i?e made promises)
|
this song is for Buk, for αrane, for Wes, and for Marty
|
who keep their barrels oiled and ready
|
the few that I would trade ten days to spend one hour with
|
rare like a ruby at the bottom of the sea
|
beautiful like the sparrow in the kittens jaw
|
|
-----------------
|
The Big Gundown
|
| Bane |
