April
13 May 2008
Stuck to the dog, pissin' out both ends I got a hundred lethal weapons that I call my friends Ain't a person on Earth who could take my life I wish they would so a man could get some sleep at nightBut
Come one and all and see the broken man, talking to himselfHe sits and waits for something better, he'll never find it hereThe people touch his hair and pinch his cheek; he can't even feel itThere it
Wish I was, Too dead to cry.My self-affliction fades.Stones to throw, At my creator, Masochists, To which I cater.You don't need to bother,I don't need to be.I'll keep slipping farther,But once I hold
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