I've got a feeling,
That you don't know how to drink.
I keep repeating,
All the backwards versions of what I'd like you to think.
Because I don't know why things would be this bad.
I'm not alone and what good friends I've had,
Even the ones who leave.
I feel like Fred Hampton,
Except I'm a fake and he was and is the truth.
To tell you the truth,
I don't trust anyone,
Except myself it makes me sick,
I have to buy weapons.
Still I don't know why things would be this bad.
I'm not alone and what good friends I've had,
Even the ones who leave.
I've got a stretch-mark on my mind,
For all it's worth.
I've got a bad dream that blood makes wine.
I've got a stretch-mark on my mind,
For all it's worth.
I've got a bad dream it happens all the time.
Money don't mean much to me,
Besides I don't have any,
You get what you see.