I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches
And nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing
talk-show host,
rh.
i'm picking off last year like lint on mohair, i've got the fuzzes. bushed up and floating 'round like a slowtime movie, i've been reasonable, but something's got to give soon enough, soon enough...
massive redtape binding my hands and pen but now i'm ready to take the test and become part of the driving rat race. open her up, pour it in, fire her up, and roll on. grey-head, i've come to take your place.
downing dunkin' donuts' brew, mouth coating jellydonut happy, fingerlicking good. i'm doing what i want now. i don't care about you.
and i see the dumbfounded faces, the slick ricks and winonas. the fat greasy hands that peck at my paycheck, the cable commercials that try to cram useless in my head. i listen to fast talkers, the shmoozers, and perfecto ass kissers, tall on flicking my earlobes and pounding the drum, never short on supply, they're a dime a dozen.
i feel the bullies locked up tight in their skin, in their heads, hell bent on floating never realizing gravity rules here. picking and pecking out their initials on trees and skin as if it'll matter later on.
you're an urn or a headstone, just like everyone else.