Asa Phelps Is Dead

The Lawrence Arms

Hey, Brother, can you spare the time?

Skin and bones that's melting in a backwards way to grow

Out of heart and out of mind

And kiss me in the rearview when you go…

Dying at 23, I'm trying on my apathy

With a tired conversation floating in this ether sky

Tried again too many times and doesn't it get worse…

Sit and stare

Seems like we're running out of dimes

Bodies that we burn as fuel, irreversible decline

Pocket lint and turpentine

Warm my insides, wash these ashes from my eyes

Death with an attitude, I'm putting on my Sunday suit

Tired as a conversation held one too many times

A year or two or three or ten or twenty more…