Under a blanket of clichés , i toil the night away. I gotta fake that i'm asleep, so my soul can keep from burning up on concrete. Tied to my hands and feet, the rope melts into my skin. Dragged to oblivion until i'm next to everything. The vultures and vampires toast at the bonfire and my chimney is dry. No sculptures or spare tires, I'm built up to fall flat. And if i died the horses, they'd still run until my skin burned to ash on prairie grass.
The rope burns my spirit until my will fades. Even in death they wanna take me away. My eyes are chalky, i see no end. A sullen portrait bent on a park bench. No minute to breathe before the fuckin ropes clench. Use my strength, wear me down, you're not my cause but i keep you around. Maybe if i don't make a sound? Maybe if i just whisper? Maybe if i had 5 minutes alone i wouldn't miss her? So many blisters, I climb and claw to reach my own path. Drawn and quartered my halves become halves like i'm all that they have. Being strong for them all, with no time to grow scabs, and heal all the wounds from being beaten and dragged and hailed like a cab. I just wanna get high and take a long nap. Am i allowed to be upset or you the only who can be sad? I guess it's a stretch. Drawn and quartered to death. I've got a great hiding place for my ghost beyond where my secrets are kept. The closed book fooled you with its glass cover.
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