A Taste of Kirklin's Work
Take me off of autopilot, cause I stare into the atmosphere,
I'm living life and getting strikes and pretty soon I'm outta here,
you got me twisted like a broken stick that you kept messing with,
and if I die I hope that I can convince God to let me in,
I'm open to your point of view, but closed for ever in a hole,
I can get a grasp of things, but I can never get control,
an answer can be answered, but a question stays a question,
my anger turns from silence into pain and then depression,
this is just a poem about how I make my poems perfect,
They're so deep, but now I think it's time to head back to the surface!
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