Blue Kite

I think that I was born so I could make this song
And I think you were born so you could prove me wrong
I think that you will point out how these notes are trite
And I'll concede because the critic's always right

I'm back to writing, but I feel a little static
I've gotten older, so I don't feel as emphatic
You know my story, yeah, I'm just a fucking addict
The market's run its course now back into the attic, yeah

On the cusp of my hazy, fraught, and feverish mind, oh
There is not one line vacant in the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah
On the cusp of my hazy, fraught, and feverish mind, oh
There is not one line vacant in the synapse of my soul, yeah-yeah

The house was cold, but we had pictures on the wall
To invoke an understandin' of it all
Wrong direction led us both into the fringe
Self-deprecating as our minds became unhinged

Sticking balance over years of push-and-pull
Absolved of bedbugs and that dirty fentanyl (that dirty fentanyl)
Road to recovery, an early talking point
New sensations but still broken at the joint, yeah

There's no reason for this sapless lack-of-lack
The medium itself won't keep this space intact
Messages are shrouded in a caustic mix
Of virtue and of vanity begging to fix

No agenda that brings meaning to this life
Meaning's just a medium for calculated strife
Lawless like Sunyata, there's no state to which I'm bound
Until the lack-of-lack proceeds to burn me to the ground

I'm that stray dog leering through the fog
Left out of the ark, dancing in the dark
Coddled by the tree branches like a leash
In the winter light, I'm the blue kite