Under This Bridge
Under this bridge, tonight when no one stands around
I sit on my hands and watch the cars head into town
With thoughts about my future and fears of my actions of disguise
The brain cloud in my mind growing larger and more precise
Without any more options left in my self-medicating doctor’s handbook
I finally just drop to my knees and look toward the crying sky
It is a sickman’s humor to struggle until we are left in a fetal position on a concrete floor
to ask for salvation and forgiveness before our hands bang against death’s door
My life certainly doesn’t resemble the brochure, far too early to see if the credits will be stripped clean
Friends are cheap, but love costs
Friends can be bought on recycled thoughts
Life underground with the spotlight on the clown
No parking, sleeping near the ground. Hands fallen asleep, so just hover around
One more day, just walking around myself. Head in the clouds, my heart in her hand
