Anaconda Vice
Self-medication for short-term elation
Vacation from racing thoughts
A complacent existence
Refusal to give in to the fact that I am truly lost
I'm such a (?), I think that I'm sick
In a web spun from traces of dependency
And I know
I'm letting shit pile up
To the point that my knees give out and come back to my old crutch
I need to find a new way of coping
A different distraction
A new plan of action
And I can't imagine anything
Other than self-medication for short-term elation
Vacation from racing thoughts
A complacent existence
The refusal to give in to the fact that I'm truly lost
I'm such a misfit
I know I'm not safe
In a web spun from time wasted in a place I should not be
(?)
Wine-drunk and reading
Until I grow woozy and lies lost their meaning
The room is now spinning
So turn off the ceiling fan
I spent the whole night getting wine-drunk and reading
Until I grow woozy and lines lost their meaning
The room is now spinning
So I bury my face in my hands
Fuck!
I'm spinning
I'm spinning
I'm spinning out of control
I'm spinning
I'm spinning
I'm spinning out of control
I'm spinning
I'm spinning
I'm spinning out of control
(?)
My mind's giving out