“It’s got a bit of a country shuffle to it. It’s got some pedal steel guitar and almost honky-tonk piano at times. That’s another one that’s personal: faults or issues, problems, realizing that you’ve just become really bitter and hateful. I’m trying to pull myself out of it in a way. If I’m in a ha...
Can't survive another come-down day
When the spirit houses so much pain
So much bitterness, so much bitterness
I need to teach myself to feel again
Somehow I lost the thread of being human
Rotted in this bitterness, too much bitterness
I'm so confused, what is the function of this ego-sickness?
Uselessly beleaguered by self-hatred whisperings
I can't deal with mourning at the carcass
Of my failures any longer
Slipping on my own vomit while I
Tried to call you from a bathroom in Sao Paulo, but I was
Too drunk to formulate any sort of Earthly language
So much bitterness, too much bitterness
Other people can say there is a true belief system
But all my life I've been betrayed by my mother's religion
So much bitterness, too much bitterness
I'm so destroyed, what is the purpose of this ego-sickness?
Uselessly besieged by self-aversion whisperings
Man, I can't deal with mourning at the carcass
Of my failures any longer
Any longer!
Can't seem to get the saddle on
The spoils of this morbid fugue
My mantras of subhuman nature
Just a baleful ululation
The ink's dripping all over me!
The only regret I have is caring!
Are we posing, are we props riding the anger till it stops?
Father, will we starve today? Father, will we starve?
Father, will we starve today? Father, will we starve?
No my child, there are wild women here and a crafty fish am I
No my child, there are wild women here and a fleshy catch am I
Will our quarters be the sunken earth deep beneath the meadow?
Will our quarters be the sunken earth deep beneath the ground?
No my child, you lay your head upon a monstrous felony
No my child, you'll rest your head upon a gross misdeed
Father will I cry again, crossed the earth to fight
Father will I cry again, a victim of abuse
No my child, don't be the world needs more distinction
For awful retribution is the singular delight
It's hard to sympathize with those that won't fight for themselves;
I can't hold both our faces off the flames much longer
The child of our struggle is free
I've fallen out of love with the prisoner
What's to save us?