Looks like we're going to make it through another winter
but the chill is still in my bones.
Nothing's keeping me in these state lines except for the great lakes and making my own road out.
These days come ripping by and I talk about living
but I know I'll be smashed again by sundown.
These couch sprawled days, just to recover from the way we treat ourselves.
It's so hard to find direction from this swimming head perspective.
My mind again sinks into these bottles that I'm carrying home.
It's hard to ask to be respected when our theories go untested.
What the hell are we trying to prove?
When the cancer finally catches up
I hope I can say I saw more of the world than I did of my TV.
When my body's finally had enough, I hope can say that
I fucking lived it.
Today is just what we make it. Today we're gonna get it back.
Hope has sunk to the bottom of the bottles we raise.
Here's to hoping things are only going to get better.
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