When the rust fills your fingers, you ain’t gonna write no more…

Sitting on the banks of a misfortunous lager beer, wondering if the next one will come to pass. Wondering if the next junction box, can hold up my bladder, filled to the brim that it is, upto the point of no return. I'm counting down to extinction, jumping at the first chance to say goodbye, to all the leaves of the forest, shivering in the slightest wind. It ain’t nice to see them shiver, it depresses me just a bit…it must be easy to leave the band, but that’s coz I play bass…and while you’re at it, remember to really stink up the vocals, coz when the rust fills your fingers, you ain’t gonna write no more…and do remember to wipe the crap behind you, coz here at the university, we believe in cleaning up after ourselves. It ain’t gonna be easy to jump off the moving train. To stop the train, pull the chain, and a hefty fine awaits those do it for fun. Speaking of fun, have you heard of the Messiah? He needs to tighten his purse strings a little bit, or before he knows it, POOF! He’ll turn into a duck, and that’ll be all that’s left of him. Complete annihilation is the keyword, and jumping off the cliff is the first step. Or maybe its just Dolce Vita, which gives you the chance to land in a pitful of quicksand, while you grapple with the slimy enemy, you just keep sinking lower and lower until there is no more of you, him, her, it, or anything.