there's a low mean light thrown down by the moon
pushing through this chilly, love-less room
it's a hard line, the kind that don't cut no groove
stone cold sober and bored to death
I watch the candle flicker, take another breath
both feet on the breaks, dead weight still on the move
don't know what you're made of till you get took apart
fingernails and bootprints in every vital part
it's a soft life, that's just salt in the wound
don't take it so hard, this too shall pass
just like the good times, don't nothing last
the plot tends to twist when the story-line forgets to move
fixed to a point, a ground for every wire
parameters surround every kind of fire
it's my own hands that done most the damage, it's true
both feet lift off for a fraction of a sec
when you walk with purpose and some bounce in your step
you dance till you don't, that's the move