Its Dylan, You Know the Drill

...an i.o.u. tattoo strung along the finer rips and tears in your heart, and it is there to keep you together while were all falling apart. my conscience drifts and sleeps in shifts, trading off between my open hands and swinging fists. this alcohol-my wrecking ball- keeps me talking to the angels buried in these walls. but, contrary to counter culture, i dont care if the killing stops or if suffocation claims my lungs. we walk a nightmare line. . .wide awake and dead at the same time. this ringing room has been raped and ruined and completely torn apart by the few who think that they'll find you. but time and fate-those things i hate-both have their of ways of playing off the winters weight. so, we're both older and seven snowfalls worth of colder earth has left us reaching. the cellar door is coming up and we've had time to lock it up. i'm feverish. i'm burning up, and i pray to god there's time enough. you know that i love you, but now i just cant shut you up.so, now i'll have to chop you up and i'll just wait until i get caught.