I am a stranger's son bound for the west
I count my words as spun with the best
to be high as a kite in the hills of hell
to let go of the past and wish you well
these are dreams of which none will stand
but i hold onto them to comprehend
the Vicodin numbs me, makes me painless
the Xanax calms me, makes me loveless
pressure put forward is returned in time
so where is the karma to match my crimes
dumped like trash in the filth of progress
endless cycles make change meaningless
worried we'll be till the earth meets the sky
anxiety will haunt us till the day we die
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Existence is a dream.
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