Stray Bullets 70
Another night at 70 where I've become the enemy
'cause bad TV and apathy have got their hooks in.
Seems like only yesterday with all the games my psyche plays.
I'm trying to forget the ways that it brings me down.
And the only thing I've found when the obstacles abound,
is grabbing my guitar to try to catch this sound.
'Cause all I really want to do is sit and hang out in my room
and maybe smoke a jay or two and play a reggae tune.
Look outside it starts to snow, will we make it I don't know.
Rent is due a week ago and we're all broke and
soon the walls are closing in, sloth becomes the token sin.
No surprise that once again I find it chokes me down.
And the only thing I've found when the ship has run aground
is grabbing my guitar to try and catch this sound.
The only way that I can see to break out of despondency
is focusing my energy on anything that isn't me.
Another week another year, what am I stuck doing here?
Tunnel vision never clear, is this progress?
Will this work be justified or will the world just pass me by?
You call this a wasted life, but I've no regrets now.
'Cause when I find this sound all doubts are disavowed.
I step out of this cloud and start to turn this shit around.
Yeah there's more going on here than I could ever dream
in these petty meltdowns now. And the only thing I've found,
and the only thing I need, and the only thing that ever really sets me free
is knowing that there's more to heaven and earth
than I could ever dream stuck here at 70