​

Been lurking around corners too long,

Whistling between the shadows of a doldrum,

There’s a place in space for the crows and the corn,

But I yearn for more than squalor and a squaw.

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We’re hungry for the yield so we yield,

A week will pass before we heal,

So I sit tight, indoors, wanting more,

But without a harvest there ain’t no chaw.

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You craved a house on a hill with a meadow,

Your time was short and borrowed,

You said the scythe was our birthright,

Taught me to crave the good life.

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So I force myself to visit the graveyard,

Guess it’ll forever remain on my radar,

And talk to myself when I’m alone,

Maybe go through your old photos.

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Been painting my own pictures to save,

Cutting my own hair, these are dark days,

Any day now I’ll have my way,

Any day now my dues will be paid.