Retard and Feathered

All of you dead doves on sunstaining streets Becoming soulmates with soles of my feet Clipped little wings Escaping the rain Crash into windows and bruis their birdbrains The second verse is as bored as the first Satanic gloom and barbiturate doom Pawning guitars to heat up a spoon you can't just eat shit on an empty stomach And then act surprised at what comes out of it