i'm not a ladies man, i'm a landmine filming my own fake death under an '88 cavalier i go but-but-but-but nothing but the rear bumper's blown but i's born for this flight, united 955 on the fifth of july back the s over y i join the dark side in a thin disguise on consumer grade video at night
faking suicide for applause in the food courts of malls and cursing racing horses on tiered steps playing the wall at singles bingo all time gringo did anyone hear me cry there through a toilet stall divider i swear i care, raw
i am an example of a calculated birth two a star chart for clowns, im not under robin eggs in a nest, you hit a manila envelope with one last little robin's egg in it
a hollow bullet yet spent subject to dismissal i wish all my pitfalls could be called my miscalls