Blue Kite

I think that I was born so I could make this song And I think you were born so you could prove me wrong I think that you will point out how these notes are trite And I'll concede because the critic's always right I'm back to writing, but I feel a little static I've gotten older, so I don't feel as emphatic You know my story, yeah, I'm just a fucking addict The market's run its course now back into the attic, yeah On the cusp of my hazy, fraught, and feverish mind, oh There is not one line vacant in the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah On the cusp of my hazy, fraught, and feverish mind, oh There is not one line vacant in the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah The house was cold, but we had pictures on the wall To invoke an understandin' of it all Wrong direction led us both into the fringe Self-deprecating as our minds became unhinged Sticking balance over years of push-and-pull Absolved of bedbugs and that dirty fentanyl (that dirty fentanyl) Road to recovery, an early talking point New sensations but still broken at the joint, yeah There's no reason for this sapless lack-of-lack The medium itself won't keep this space intact Messages are shrouded in a caustic mix Of virtue and of vanity begging to fix No agenda that brings meaning to this life Meaning's just a medium for calculated strife Lawless like Sunyata, there's no state to which I'm bound Until the lack-of-lack proceeds to burn me to the ground I'm that stray dog leering through the fog Left out of the ark, dancing in the dark Coddled by the tree branches like a leash In the winter light, I'm the blue kite