Wake up in a room where steel guitars, Turn to steel bars,. You know I've lived here to long. Try to write these songs about being bored, Why am I so surprised when they all prove boring songs?
The second hand holds still while the hour hand slips by. I don't know just how long I've been here. I'll just stare out the window and contemplate the sky, While I grow older than my years.
Plucking strings at the site of my bed, By a stack of books most of which I've never read. I want to capture in sound the way things are, But I'd regret it in the morning if I smashed my guitar.
Well they're never going to tell us just what's coming around the bend, But there's one thing I can count on, That's that old man time is not my fucking friend. For the reaper lurks in stillness, but motion too is death. Me, I float between them, moving in and out to the rhythm of my breath.