He pours a glass with the emblem emblazoned upon
Takes to knowing what makes us grow
Sullen words, back-of-the-class reprobates tangling and cussing their every worth
He’s been laughing and backing himself into a ludicrous corner
Like a maniacal hyena with Devil-eyes hilariously sketched upon, storming the process ’til it breathes again
He truly could not give a two tuppence shit, this just it – a ten thousandth leaky pen for a crux and a crutch all at once
Supposed to be downtrodden, typically besieged by this ferocious loneliness alone
His silkworm chest is worn right out, barely there for anything other than high-octane bimbos to push and caress
through ’til midnight strikes – they will steal his last dime and nothing else
Don’tcha already know that he ain’t no fairytale Princess… these cracks always show, ever-glowing
Seems it’s where the light gets in
Bless his 1960’s cotton overalls