Well, maybe better you than me.
You’re much weaker, you’re more clumsy
When I forfeit my patience to you.
So maybe you’ve had too much wine:
Piggy’s flushed up,
Ankles swell up,
As my lady works the room.

Your sideburns always smell like sex.
Little sister, your big brother,
The fuck, won’t be smothering you
Or calling to his friends back east.
Oh my hostess, oh my pick-up,
Oh my dreadful, oh my white slave,
Let them die while some decent music plays.

When my shit shoes stumble, that’s me:
Dirty nails and awful thoughts.
I’ll use the words used up on commercials,
Like such sharp boys like to write
Songs, music, and quick lines;
This feeling: I can’t confine that to a rhyme,
But maybe I can if I see you on the other side.

See you on the other side
Where we would be released
I’d sell out everything
If I could find such peace.
See you on the other side
Where we would be released.
I’d sell out everyone
If I could find such peace.
I will be free.