(Vic Chesnutt)

sitting in a square room

my voice is freezing

and the beams that are bouncing off the moon

are hanging from my window like icicles

just a tired old alcoholic, waxing bucolic

shivering and homesick

staring at a wooden floor

staring at a wooden floor

last night I nearly killed myself

chasing rum with rum

there were crows flying all around my head

and I sure caught and ate me some

it's funny how I alienated

those who I was trying just so

so hard to impress

now half those fuckers hate me

and I'm just a fool to all the rest

why do I insist on drinking myself to the grave

why do I dream about cozy coffin

I had all these plans of great things to accomplish

but I end up purely pathetic more than often