(Vic Chesnutt)
sitting in a square room
my voice is freezing
and the beams that are bouncing off the moon

are hanging from my window like icicles
just a tired old alcoholic, waxing bucolic
shivering and homesick
staring at a wooden floor
staring at a wooden floor
last night I nearly killed myself
chasing rum with rum
there were crows flying all around my head
and I sure caught and ate me some
it's funny how I alienated
those who I was trying just so
so hard to impress
now half those fuckers hate me
and I'm just a fool to all the rest
why do I insist on drinking myself to the grave
why do I dream about cozy coffin
I had all these plans of great things to accomplish
but I end up purely pathetic more than often