I think I know what you might be looking at;
You think maybe I’m interesting but I don’t care.
I already have kitchen utensils;
I don’t need to be used as one.
Give me a chance I might even hate you;
You don’t see the darkness oozing out from with-in me?
I’d plead to god to help me;
But I don’t think he’s in this particular mix.
And this bitter recipe of spices and herbs;
It seems to be decaying my existence even as I type.
I wish there was someone out there who could help me;
But that’s not you is it Mr. I’m Tarzan you Jane.
And you girl drooling all out the side of your mouth;
What the hell you think you can do for me!
Once you run it through the wash;
And life sends it through the ringer;
It’s all the same ole same ole thing;
So lick dirt she devil.
I’m so tired of all this rhetoric;
But I can’t find no way out.
And that, that there terrorizes me;
So much it takes the life right out of me.
Now can anyone rescue me from that?
I doubt it very much.