Walking through hot coals
Feet barely listening to nerves crisping
All smoke filled
It's that kind of a life
that kind of a day
not sure anymore
I need the key and the code
to better days and better states of mind
At least I have them to the better ways
but I still don't choose to use them
And I know it's all my fault that everything is salt
and desiccated and dry
a swatted fly's body on the concrete
cooking in the hot sun
fry an egg on my car hood
I won't know because I'm not here or there anymore
did you hear that I am not here anymore?
I might be in the newspaper
way in the back section
maybe I'll be there someday
someday soon I hope
I know, I know, I know
Everything burns and turns into ashes
everybody burns
walking through hot coals
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