Stop when you know how the end of the story goes.
Drop into those mindsets where you go and circle for days.
You get crazy high on loss of life.
Your strife is real I see.
Wash me with the hose. I’ve been dirty, now you know.
A bourbon leech, I dry up wells with my woes.
I’ve got kind of humble with strokes of bad luck.
I’m taking it rough that I’m grown and don’t care enough.
I sit tight and wonder what I missed.
You say it's nothing personal I’m wondering what is.
A brand of heartache only exchanged through friends.
There’s no making amends with someone who thinks too far ahead.
Stop writing prose, even con-men can grow.
He’s humble now but in a year’s time who knows?
You may never see him again.
You may never see me again.