Mama go make my bed. tuck in the absurd.
These confessions are mine but i'll claim not a word.
It's a restless parade that passes me by, and through the cracks in my palm i've seen them all gone: some sequence of lives.
She calls out alone with a pain in her voice.
It's the wound of betrayal, its the weapon of choice that left her heart on display: two tattoos of skin, one of ice one of tin, for the days have gone by.
But i ain't one to reminisce. close my heart and clench my fist.
Now the days swiftly pass with a chestfull of fear.
Here the minutes are ours but the moments are yours.
And old acquaintances pass, in trios in pairs.
If they stay or they go, one struggles to know, one struggles to care.
But out beyond the penitentiary walls, the wind blows hard, the highway calls.
And if you should pass the st. james hotel, please stop in 'cause i knew you well.
But that was oh so long ago.
And no, i never learned how to let go.
But if you fear your own thoughts and you're sick of this life.
If you're reckless of hand and trembling a knife, though your doors prefer locks and your death prefers spoons, come step out your gate, one last laugh at fate, forever is too soon.
But if i'm sick or if i'm well, across the field the death bell knells, so run and tell my darling true that my death is short, my breath is you.
So please come down and take my hand, my last demand.
And lead me to some slender rest, but please dismiss what i confess.
