Kid Sampson from Painted Post by SCHMAVE

At home with Jack, I feel the burn in my chest
The white hair creeps its way through
And we're all doctors here, but unfortunately
Eventually, there's nothing we can do

Please, quick sir, I've had a nasty batch
Of quilts and qualms draped over me
Of quaint, crackled hands, that I envy

Admit to heart attack, but not the beats of unrest
The dread upheld, tells me what to do
And we're all framers here, but unfortunately
The Beam has rotted through and through

Wake up, sir, I'm now aware of the patch
Of carefree dusks and dawns that will no longer be
Of curled up, dusty lungs, that I envy
Oh shallow soups of psalms, just for heaven's sake

Good lord, what a scratch I see
Good lord, what a pain I have been
Good lord, you don't see what I see
Good lord, none of this matters to me

• New Paltz
• Rock
• indie
• indie rock
• jazz
• lofi
• slacker rock
• New Paltz