I miss the smell of the sunset.

Gray matter on the gas.

But this ain’t PL in the rear view.

I’m boutta body a bag.

They said I couldn’t ever love you.

But they wasn’t anyone else.

I’m doing it all by myself.

Now I’m paranoid, I might try and get help.

I don’t know how or who to turn to, and I’m running out of weed to burn through.

I might catch on fire like them fucking monks do, I wonder if they end up wishing they didn’t.

When flesh turns into cinder, to a body bag in the dumpster.

Now it’s too late and it’s futile, even miracles turn into monsters, I’m over it.

Let me tell you what.

I don’t wanna fight about it.

You’re the only one.

It’s not that complicated baby.

Tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets.

So I can forget them.

You’re nothing without baggage, dear.

I don’t mind when you come around cause then it all just quiets down.

Like finally, my god, I’m sick of all the noises, tired of the people.

I can’t taste the poison anymore, my tongue’s tied.

Mother Mary got her tubes tied.

I could do it any minute if I had the nerve.

Let me tell you what.

I don’t wanna fight about it.

You’re the only one.

It’s not that complicated baby.