|
I hate it here |
|
Pillow of shame, blanket of lies |
|
warms the primitive |
|
I hate it here |
|
in this new year, with the sun |
|
new in my skies |
|
Broken glass on corroded brass |
|
it tells a time |
|
A new time, gentlemen |
|
Blinding glance, raise my glass |
|
to my new time |
|
I'm naked here |
|
I'm in the blind, in blinding cold |
|
Not a shiver |
|
moves the primitive |
|
I hate it here |
|
in this new year, with the sun |
|
new in my skies |
|
Dead weight on my shoulders, sir |
|
A mule of circumstance |
|
Am I this blind? |
|
Can I not see this? |
|
Am I blinded into seeing |
|
nothing real? |
|
Cry in your pillows |
|
swallow that pride |
|
Keep your blankets |
|
for these colder nights |
|
in the new year |
|
My new year |
|
My new time, gentlemen |
