I will not fall
Into the spiked pit of self loathing
In this bar tonight
I just fucking refuse
Sure I crashed the car
But in my defense I’m running
On two hours of sleep
And a Whole Lotta Booze
And I’ve got this whole
Peter Gabriel thing right now
Because I’ve got a boom box
And you’ve got a window
But ne’er the twain shall meet
You know I lied just then
I don’t own a boom box
I stream everything on Spotify
And I don’t know that you have a window
Maybe you live in a basement
Fuck it: the metaphor stands
But I’ve always been better
At carrying people over broken glass
Than I am at kissing them
Sure sucks for flirting
But you’d love me forever
If you spent a minute in my head
While I’m walking to the grocery store
And yeah it’s this fatal mix
Arrogance and ego and delusions
Of grandeur and hating yourself
And your poison fucking blood
I’m fucking up my format
But screw it, I’m drunk
Call this one of the trash pieces
I’ll steal some shit
Because that’s what we artists do
You could have a steam train
Etc etc etc
I had an ending for this but
mattress dungeon 