Blue Kite

I think that I was born so I could make this song

And I think you were born so you could prove me wrong

I think that you will point out how these notes are trite

And I'll concede because the critics always right

I'm back to writing, but I feel a little static

I've gotten older, so I don't feel as emphatic

You know my story, yeah, I'm just a fucking addict

The market's run its course now back into the attic, yeah

On the cusp of my hazy

Fraught and feverish mind, oh

There is not one line vacant

In the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah

On the cusp of my hazy

Fraught and feverish mind, oh

There is not one line vacant

In the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah-yeah

The house was cold, but we had pictures on the wall

To invoke an understanding of it all

Wrong direction led us both into the fringe

Self-deprecating as our minds became unhinged

Striking balance over years of push and pull

Absolved of bedbugs and that dirty fentanyl

Road to recovery, an early talking point

New sensations, but still broken at the joint, yeah

There's no reason for this sapless lack of lack

The medium itself won't keep this space intact

Messages are shrouded in a caustic mix

Of virtue and of vanity begging to fix

No agenda that brings meaning to this life

Meaning's just a medium for calculated strife

Lawless like Sunyata, there's no state to which I'm bound

Until the lack of lack proceeds to burn me to the ground

I'm that stray dog

Leering through the fog

Left out of the ark

Dancing in the dark

Coddled by the tree

Branches like a leash

In the winter light

I'm the blue kite