To pace the moment you receive a taste. What’ll happen if it breaks? Like a tadpole in a lake that starts to churn.
You could have tried to change, but you seed the bleed.
God damn, old man, lost hands, flim flam fool, one room trailer, scent of failure due.
Cause when it’s through, what’s a country boy to do? The sticks and rocks from dirty shoes. Like Crockett there’s a way to lose but hold your worth. Cause there’s a path that makes it warm to train the reins. I’ll ride through fear, and hate, and shame, and still you wouldn’t play the game but if you were.
We could have tried to change but you’ll seed the bleed.
Downtown, old ways, lost homes, young made frail. That scratched up bar stool taught me far too well.
You should have tried to change but you seed your bleed.
