Bieverything

I’d go ahead and pray
But schedule clearly regiments
Dose of wickedness today

Goals, lined like soda bottles
Thumbs, they stumble and they dawdle
Seems I’ve got a wittle cap gun
This job calls for sound machine one

I’d go ahead and aim
But the game ain’t worth my time
Hit or miss, it stays the same

Docs, cocky little Godlikes
See the chart and stifle their yikes
Seems I’ve got a wittle cycle
Can’t seem to fit a tonic bridle

I’d go on and abate
But I’m inured to the unrest
I refuse to abdicate

I’d cash my crazy in for normalcy
But the prospect harshly bores me
And I’d be an angel’s pet
But the devil gets me wet.

Advertisements