(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
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