I wouldn't call it church The way these spirits work They draw the sharpest blade Like an egyptian storm The kids are fairest born And the leaves the rest unscathed Lightly panning down seas Snapping off the branches of a family tree But it costs to talk and I can barely make the rent Excuse me while I drink myself to death Another peice of mind??? But lately I don't care Just make a sour face And pound for pound of waste The eyes of the world stare Pointed jokes are wearing thin Portrait of the artist with his face punched in A lonely heart is heavy in his hairless chest Excuse me while I drink myself to death Damn the weather Deep sea tides Mornings after Neverland A portrait of the artist with the mount hangin' I had to sue 'em out these vile bowels To wreck their debts