Story
Written after the death of my father at the complete end of my rope.
Written after the death of my father at the complete end of my rope.
The bank wants a pay stub
Its the slowest time of the year
Just want to build me a little hide way
In which I can disappear
Cause I'm a mess
I guess
Truth of the matter is
This old house grows dirt
The floors need sanding down
My whole life needs painting
And I don't want to be found
Reclusiveness
Get me some of this
See you all around
Just when you think you nailed it
Theres somebody better than you
Its gotta be the right shade of yellow
Or a sadder hue of blue
Struggling on this scene
All these years has been freaking hard
Some scum broke the window
Stole my Martin Guitar
Well F this
On That
Truth of the matter is
My x's second divorce
Turned into a baby on the way
My kids are his kids
He barely gives them the time of day
More or less
He's an ass
So selfish
My dad's dead, my dogs dead
I'm tired of grieving
Screw that happy balloon ride
Don't stay mad I get even
Don't stay pissed
Screw bitternes
Move on eventually
My birth week is coming up
I hear 50 is the new 40
What the hell am I supposed to look like
Feminine or sporty
I'd like to trade my old man in
For a Charles or a Raul
But my friends are all gay
And insist I get a tool
Oh goodness gracious
I wouldn't know what to do with it
Theres a dump the size of Texas
Floating out in the sea
Everyday round here is Christmas
With all this packaging
The worlds a mess
Don't second guess
We're all guilty
I'd like to melt down all the plastic
Flood all the streets
Mold everyone a kayak
Kiss my wake wouldn't that be sweet
Inner bliss
Happiness
Heavenly
I'm a plane thats been hijacked
Flying real close to the ground
Heavy and life smacked
Window shades all pulled down
Cause I'm a mess
I confess
Truth of the matter is
Cause I'm a mess
I confess
Truth of the matter is…..