Slipping through the cracks
Sip a little jack
Go to bed half dead
What about the rent
Why does every cent got to be a bet
When's it going to end
Oh my God we don't have a penny left
My mum's gotta find a way
To get a job, out of debt, out of dodge
Out of breath, out of this big problem
My pops wants to get away from the pain
In a better place in his brain
But the medication he takes
Makes him wasted
So sick he was going to think
The good Lord would come take him
I'm shaking him
Wake up you son of a bitch!
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.