i'm sick of all this domestic pain
and the unjust burden on the weary saints
and i'll never let anyone say to me
that it's easy holding on to your integrity
'cause the people are yellin' and the flags are burnin'
and the blood is flowin' and my stomach's turnin'
and i'm just afraid that one day i'll find
i've got too much whiskey and not enough rye
2 comments:
that last line is epic, kind of like the entire poem. this is one of my favorites. it doesn't feel quite as dismal as it appears.
This. Is. So. Good.
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