The poetry of this hangover. I don't want to think, not hard anyway. The scenery and fish, they're bad. Take another breath, another look and swallow.
Wide awake in the candlelight. Stoned straight, crashing ocean wave. Patterns and sunset in their prime. Shoulder demons tell me how to lie. When it matters, when it matters, oh.
Yeah, between the doors, shakin' heads. And thinking light about who you're with, where you are. Blue lightning hittin' trees and lighting roads. Won't let me get too down.
Held in hands, a warm cup of skin. Always taken in by peers and friends. And the heightened fears over the years. Now I know I'm not like everyone. . And in this head I see the ground you came from.
Lost all my friends pulling down my pants. Just to say hi and I'm still alive. Without a tan, tripping, naked man. Through the forest who like me has fallen.
One more astronaut in black skin of universe. One more travellin' man. With heavy tired eyes, feeling cold. Feeling cold. . Thinking around the clock of drinking on the job.
One more astronaunt in black sking. of universe. One more travelin' man. With heavy tired eyes, feeling cold. thinking around the clock of drinking. On the job, of the powdered food And piss bags, never having sex and growing old.
Can't think a straight line beyond the hill. It seems like a mountain. Next to an ocean, behind a thrill. Almost in my reach. . If there's a way I could.
Given good ground to walk around. It would mean so much to me. To see things for my still young self. Or else, I might not believe. . Whatever people say in their own ways.
Sunday, always hard to get to sleep. When weird noises are implying threats. On cold sheets, I sweat. . On any other day. It's all rest and flowers. And a long night of nothing.