who are we
but you and i
we walk around town
just to see a pedigree
i punch holes
in a can and we get
stoned
what can i say,
i'm in my prime
not short,
not dead,
no rest,
and blink your head,
and i'll be gone
green is a funeral man's drum song
t-bone strum and get you some
stay behind and be gold eyes
look around the morning
suprised to find no sunlight lies
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