|
|
|
|
A Cornucopia of
Pain |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Well I woke up
feeling small |
|
|
Beat my head
against the dirt |
|
|
But it never
seems to harm enough |
|
|
|
|
|
Smashed my
fingers in the door |
|
|
But it always
leaves me |
|
|
Jonesing
for the kind of pain |
|
|
The world can
spill |
|
|
|
|
|
I left my house
today |
|
|
in search of all
the sorrow I could get |
|
|
|
|
|
A cornucopia of
pain |
|
|
A cornucopia of
viciously excruciating pain |
|
|
|
|
|
So I went out
with a frown |
|
|
Staring at the
hopeless cement boxes all about. |
|
|
I'm so sad and
fucking old |
|
|
Everything they
said to me |
|
|
Never made it
through the din |
|
|
|
|
|
I'm heading home
tonight |
|
|
In search of all
the horror |
|
|
That I could get |
|
|
|
|
|
A cornucopia of
pain |
|
|
|
|
|
Copyright 2004 Jay Wasco |
|