All my limbs are lead.
They sleep concrete boxes as beds.
Surfing on the river of Styx, I’ve come to grips that maybe I could get away if I didn’t try.
I kept you locked inside my wrist.
I was selfish.
All my sins are sad.
I was a vulture laughing at kids before I made a bet with the devil and came to god with a plea,
Let’s put our two heads together and make a man out of me and he said,
“I’m all strung out on miracles, choking on mounds of marigolds.â€