Vic Chesnutt
Square Room
Sitting in a square roomMy voice is freezingAnd the beams that are bouncing off the moonAre hanging from my window like iciclesJust a tired old alcoholic, waxing bucolicShivering and homesickStaring at a wooden floorStaring at a wooden floorLast night I nearly killed myselfChasing rum with rumThere were crows flying all around my headAnd I sure caught and ate me someIt's funny how I alienatedThose who I was trying just soSo hard to impressNow half those fuckers hate meAnd I'm just a fool to all the restWhy do I insist on drinking myself to the graveWhy do I dream about cozy coffinI had all these plans of great things to accomplishBut I end up purely pathetic more than often
From Letras Mania