Thursday, January 13, 2005

Untitled (hey, somewhere along the way there was bound to be one, so might as well get it out of the way now, right?)

I was manic depressive when I was a little boy
I wrote a long list of praises for all my precious toys
I always count all my blessings because that's what my momma said
But I still grew up all screwed up so I point a gun to my head

I'm obsessive compulsive that's why my head always aches
My mind is spinning, it's spinning in a way I almost can take
I look up to the clouds to find me some inspiration
But all I see are my thoughts in a beak of a feathered anthropomorphic skeleton


Now sing it, rock star, sing it.


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