Swing low sweet chariot, swing low,
'Cause I ain't got, no I ain't got no place left to go.
Back in the water, I hold my breath,
Listening to the breaking voice behind a lit cigarette.
Through chattering teeth my dearest friend speaks;
"I'll have nothing left, after this thing peaks".
His face is still, my stomach sinks.
"This might be it for us", we toast and we drink
We toast and we drink.
The only thing uglier than these insides of mine,
Are the towering twin shadows lingering behind:
The thieving hands of ticking time,
Are taking from me what I always thought would be mine.
So I'll put my organs on ice to forget for a week,
That I'm crawling this dirt path towards a devastating defeat.