Oh I have felt. Cobain's sarcoma. Growing on. This will of mine. To drag me down. Into the water. The joy I feel. Before I drown. . And the Lord's hand moves on the scheme of my nerves.
Sunkeneyed girl in the sandwich shop. Ladle my soup from the kettle pot so. Swooning my self with the smolder looks. Parsing that gaze for the right intentions.
Oh, I will not be undersold. The grip is tight, the hand is cold. Like money thrown upon the sea. I hope my love swims back to me. . And I can't save nobody.