Rolling on empty,
and I'm tired to the bone,
but my dreams are still plenty,
on this ragged ass road.

Asking for rent fees,
and away that they go...
I'm behind by a century,
but who really knows?

Money from spent fees,
on a line like the clothes...
I grow like a bent seed,
you already know.

A break from the lent dream,
a new kind that grows,
More like they went free,
because they went home.

Climbing up dent seams,
with fingers that grow,
scarlet the blood bleeds,
from the river that flows.

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