Well, here you are lying bleeding on a grimy street. See the broken glass sparkling darkly as it cuts your feet. Smell the rotting stench, the rancid odor of old cantonese.
I want to tell you a story, happened long ago. About a redneck boy down from Tupelo. I got the slick black hair, I played a rock guitar. I liked to shake my hips, man, then i went too far.
We must complete the trip, try not to lose your grip. No sight of solid ground and never look straight down. . Deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper. . Your claustrophobic brain sucking you down the drain.