7

so now I’m workin’ these forty hours

like forty acres: the mule and the master.

Nah it ain’t the right way to live.

But we gotta put food in the stable.

Keep the roof from cavin’ in.

Shootin’ the same shit,

night after night

tryin’ to get lit.

Flip coins to shift weight

always countin’ the chips.

We don’t have enough

to make a sane blade

turn on it’s master.

Slay the shadow,

then walk off with a casket,

a rattle, a riddle, a rally

inside the mind.

Tryin’ to find a door,

or a window

to jump from.

Spread the wings!

While the acid rain,

shaves them thin again.

Just another hazard of a fly guy

gettin’ twisted by the wind.

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