It's been a month
Of things just tumbling down.
Built up on years,
And hidden under a crown.
How?
Ow.
Finally give in,
And find the help that you had sought.
Hear exposition,
Then grow cold, and think yourself distraught.
You thought it was one,
But one's not as good as eight.
To line their pockets,
Or in truth to save your face?
Wouldn't it be great
If they could just remove this thing
From the equation that is you?
Too good to be true.
But you know it's never that easy,
And, hey, maybe there's a metaphor in here somewhere
For life as it stands,
Or at least a clever line in a song.
Fill them in, and then you wait again.
Find calcified, they'll have to break through rock before you can mend.
Wake up desperate,
While anguish radiates.
Worry, despondent.
Will it ever dissipate?
So, you decide you're going to play the show.
You would've anyway, but how could you have known that it would
Take yourself a dozen showers, and a dozen hours in scalding water,
And it would take yourself a dozen drinks, and a dozen more much hotter
To ink the deal?
Mouth of earth and iodine.
Take two pills to keep in line.
Mouth of earth and iodine.
Skip two songs to keep in time.
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