just sitting down, thinking about nothing Looking at the thin air Breathing up the oxygen Have I told ya You could really get it on? A guy comes up, looking pretty 8
never went no place We're on a pass, we're on a pass I stopped for gas, but where could place be To pay for gas to drive around Around the Interstate 8
Every sick fickle fucker Childhood's what makes ya Till they treat you like tundra Weigh those opinions, more like air than lead Every planned occupation
Sometimes all I really want to feel is love Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry Sometimes my feelings get in the way Of what I really feel I needed