me and my baby
we drank some magic tea
we're crusing down the rural roads
aesthetics of poverty

i'm going down for the last time
i shifted to my level
can you receive what you give me
somebody should set you free

in the morning
when you wash your hair
i love those simple things that
make me know your there

come every sunday evening
it's leftovers from the weekenders
lost limbs to identify
frustration for the grieving