I've got too much baggage
My head's filled with rat shit
I can't shake it
I spill all my ashes
In bed, in the bath where
We laid shaving
Tell me what you're running away from
Tell me what you tell em to make em
Follow such a fortunate faker
My god
My god
My god
My god
Goodnight to the Buddhist in Bushwick
With the advice for my twenty in ones
& Those red eyes he said quit covering up
My god, you're water not rust
There's nothing left worth running away from
I'll tell you what she tells em to make em
Follow such a fortunate faker
My god
My god
My god
My god
