black sunday sun,
the doors are opened wide
a call, a torture and a wail on his sidewalk
a man he died alone sprawled on his bed
hugging a guitar ’round these stubs of cigarettes

try as i might get things right
can’t fit in
can’t fit in

but then the healed was never his wounds
pale alien he hides behind his heavy books
jump all the rest around their secure world
tails round his legs, he runs but then you know he should

been in this hole too long
I’ll never write another song
black sun is coming this way
“shall I just kiss this world away”

© Carburetor Dung ’95