Half a pack of cigarettes
Mostly broke or bent
I think of cancer as
I put one to my cracked lips
That long to slake this poison lust
Voices spin and resonate inside
This old phone booth shelters me
From these lonely streets
If only God would grant me strength
To call you
Just three words could help me
Slake this poison lust
Esoteric memory
You're an eyesore now
Grab your handle
Twist your blade
Deep in my wound
********************************
Note:
The White Knuckled album is complete. It's other songs are posted elsewhere.
