If I breath deep enough
I can feel good as dead.
Get this tension and mud
Turnin to good medicine.
They're stuck in my chest
Anyway, so why not
Look at them clean
From a flattering spot
Where the sun brushes down
And smooths out the ruts
Where my movements get caught
And apathy builds up.
When they get nice and firm
I’ll crush them up nice and small
A pile on my table
That will be all, it will be all.
And I,
I will stay still
Until the desert blows away.