always in a rush like I’m late for something
that’s how i always have looked at it
spend the days alone in my head staying in bed
after a day of hustle my muscles are dead
eyes bloody red, smoking like i need a med
at a loss of friends, can’t trust anyone
they tell me that it’s bad and that it is no fun
but no fun is when they lie and leave you done
when they laugh and leave in a run
as if i were rushing to get something done
like a bum is how i feel at times
no soul, no motivation, no ideas that chime
too old for my age, too scrawny for this rage
so cold, everyday ready to turn to the next page
and forget what happened, jane helps with that
it happens kinda rapid, julio helps with that
one foot stuck in old ways like quicksand
trying to change but i’ve been back
for some reason not rushing out of this one