Monday Mornings (The)
Eyes Become X's
all the nay-sayers saylittle known townall the angels fallwhen the devils crownthe junkies drownin a little known townthe blood-bearer's tear brings the word's 'it's not fair'clean to dust all these bonesno son of mineshould see the end of his time before i see mineit's like our own private Vietnamwithout the bullets and the bombsit's bottles and needles digging trenches into armsto watch eyes becoming x's you would think it gets infectious our tombstone eyes own ingestionbecomes the earth's digestionsuggestions please on how to bring parent's from their kneessuggestion please it makes me sick and sad to think ofyour guitar hands beneath the sandin the sad southern soilLetras de cancionesit makes my blood begin to boilto think of all the pain and toil thatwe all go throughwe all go through all our lives with just to meet deathi wish someone, myself included, would have been more into itthe faded state of your existenceand perhaps it's happenstance we did this morning danceseveral months ago instead of heroin, it was methadone that took paul from his sacred bones all this medicine feels like a sin with no one label to put the poison infather sprang from his easy chairquite unprepared to find his son, to find his son, find his son, find his sonin a state that made him drop to his knees and plead, please, please, please, please, please no son of mine should see the end of his timebefore i see mine
From Letras Mania