i've just past marker 114
with the promise of the things unseen
i'm leaning in to catch the groove
that isn't old or borrowed blue

a junky waitress
steals a bite of my pie
in love the second time this week
making love where bathroom stalls get high

i'm still as lonley as the time i followed suit
but i know that nothings coming
but the taste of bitter fruit

collect the spoils as i roll
through states of mind like arkansas
where pretty aint no commodity
but she's still working just as hard

from here i wonder silent through the magic of the paint
if anythings worth dying for
and is it hard to hook the bait

just missing a little money
and the diget next to my ring
i can't be held responsible
but i promised you somthing

despite the horror of the day
i'm still apt to lick the spoon
the stunning iron grave yard
at the sullen gates of noon