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now this new jack can sit in the old room going for broke wrangling wild horses with my toes in the rope holding a smoke, i lay back and enjoy the drag i may be broke, praise the fact that i employ the flag burners on freights make it hard to watch the road sometimes looking for a place to stay in barbershops with open signs soaked in wine, booze smoking wisdom now i'm the right mood to hold the rhythm i hold some wholesome women pick up the old six string and write a song for false imprisonment but i never shot a man and i never been to reno guess i'm better of demanding plans of ??? there's a veteran of this monster who wears the heads of a hundred fathers and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers my rudder's locked for the evening, ship still sailing crushing into docks when i'm sleeping don't mock the meaning and i won't stop dreaming while i'm off eating more than i can fit my mouth around this sound has lost its leaning often feeding on its own young so what's the cost of fleeing if you don't run now no one is as beautiful as a rainy season making love to a funeral for the dead-dreamers, and the slave drivers, this is cecil otter forever Letras de cancionesfever for the cave-lifers, and stage divers, and cage fighters like this oat sleeps in the acorn, that ghost sleeps in the new born i slit the throats to keep my cave warm in hopes that it keeps my true form somber there's a veteran of this monster who wears the heads of a hundred fathers and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers this house is haunted it was built over burried axes this couch, i'm on it still sober barely active carry caskets that some are calling dead weight they're of the falling (?) type eating dough before the bread bakes my head aches and it pains me to medicate it but until i learn to brave the road alone i'll stay dedicated if my bed is made with an audience in mind it'll most likely fight me off with the fists of time i don't miss the finer things in life anymore designer rings were just knives, ready for the kill ready for the score, how many whore their skill how many warm their soul with the will of an author there's a veteran of this monster who wears the heads of a hundred fathers and lets the thunderkisses' waterworks night stalker walking dead with other offers like this oat sleeps in the acorn, that ghost sleeps in the new born i slit the throats to keep my cave warm in hopes that it keeps my true form somber From Letras Mania