You better find a way out

You better learn how to run

You better walk away

And leave the angles to the shills

Well I've been thinking for days

About the means and the ways

I could hate all I touch

I know you're my lady

Wise to trickle numb to flood

A voice coach taught me to sing

He couldn't teach me to love

All the above

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Praise the grammar police

Set me up with your niece

Walk to Baltimore

And keep the language off the streets

I'm of several minds

I am the worst of my kind

I want to cremate the crutch

I know you're my lady

Phone calls could corrupt the morning heed

The surgeons warning

Pillars of eights

I swung the fiery sword

I vent my spleen at the lord

He is abstract and bored

Too much milk and honey

I walzed through the wilderness

With nothing but a compass and a canteen

Setting the scene

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