Laziness is just depression.
Sort of drunk.
Sort of high.
Sometimes low; feel like I could die.
Walking the line.
Hundreds of feet deep; this can’t be right.
Pull me to the surface so I can see the light.
A thousand years invade my sight.
Raven wings aid my flight.
Beyond the end, the edge of resurrection.
A stranger in my reflection.
Ascension to Asgard, pills that comfort me; course correction.
World’s and words that heal; outside convention.
If only I could steal the darkness inside of you; spiritual dissection.
It all comes back around.
Life is a dream; the sound of God’s voice astounds.
Waiting for a way out to be found.
Is death the only cure?
Listen as I free my thoughts aloud.
Just another narrow road.
The haziness of affection.
I could jump.
I could cry.
Cold wind blows, frozen saline; halt my eyes.
Running in the night.
Struggle as my lungs empty, in this life; put up a fight.
Still another six feet bleak; pale mercurial wight.
Ten thousand fears strangle; ten bony fingers tight.
A woman’s grace infection arrives; In my heart through my veins and left to lie.
Crows feed on the remains; entrails provide the tree of life.
Beyond the end, the edge of resurrection.
Stratocaster intentions; wavelength distention.
Explosive connections, bourbon hollow, straddling helheim; bow my complexion.
Wounds and wars that feel; my confession, my redemption.
If only we could run away; obligation introjection.
It all comes back around.
Life is a dream; the sound of God’s voice astounds.
Waiting for a way out to be found.
Is death the only cure?
Listen as I free my thoughts aloud.
Just another narrow road.
To walk it we must derive.
Sort of drunk.
Sort of high.
Sometimes low; feel like I could die.
Walking the line.
Hundreds of feet deep; this can’t be right.
Pull me to the surface so I can see the light.
Just another narrow road.
Just another narrow road.
Build another castle, confidential home; my one and only hale hearth and hold. –Michael Kabu Ament
STÖK 