Mood Organ

Shh, shh, shh

Plasma wall lit
Deny that he ain't really up yet
Wash his mouth with the whisky
The same glass he set

On the night stand from the night before
Only had to take one
Don't know where the bitch went
(She was just wait)

No, that was a week ago
Grab the gun with his underwear on the floor
Why must that wall keep blinking, leave him alone (shh)
He already know, it's another skin and bone

Doing something unspeakable
He ain't speaking okay
Move the squeaky panel out the way
And count up what he saved (75, thou)

Almost enough to grab his bottle and walk away
But not today (shh, shh)
He's comin', he's comin'
Just let him put on a shirt, Jesus Christ

The hum of neon is persistent, can't get no sleep at night
Thumbing through paperbacks just to remember the feeling (okay, okay)
He'll accept the call and ask that they ignore the wire plugged in the ceiling
The plaster is peeling away

Swear the sun is burning through the cream
It's just another way to get 'em all to pay for shit nobody really needs
Fresh air will be the death, maybe it's welcome
Pocket full of upfront, put it all on the challenger to live

They never do, but that mean it's overdue
For that ship to come in, so let it ride
Don't let him die, don't let him die, don't let him die
Oh, he's dead

That son of bitch didn't keep his guard up
And they tore him up limb from limb
What did he expect from a skinner
Meaty motherfucker never really had it in him

Almost feel bad
But when they get out, it's on him
To scour the avenues battling elements
Skinners are slippery if unintelligent, better go get it

First another drink
Gotta stay loose and lubed up
Two stepping to the tunes on the jukebox
Even the bangers are melancholy
Get going old man 'cause you're broke and your work is important

Shut up, you ain't foolin' nobody