You know, sometimes you cannot find the words to say
You wake up in an overcast rainy way
Then you turn on the blues
and all it does is spews
and your head is filled with the glues
It just is what it is
this life biz
this day starin' stood
This burnt Norwegian wood
This J C on the Penzance
These men with their strung axes no more
Should we keep score
by the drips and the drops that flow down
by the mirthless tracks and frown
and then there are the rest
the ones unknown
who left before fully grown
who left before we knew
who left before they grew
And the words sound like empty rain
upon the tins of my brain
A lad in sane
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