From dusk til dawn there's a fog in the air with a stench so strong,
The sighs on the lips of the wise while the knife-tip drip dries, and theres another man gone.
While the sky spit another comet across andromeda lost, Im comin acrossed.
Like the high wind dry in the cold-blown night,
when the sun long died like it was hung on a cross.
And I really don't know if I really have a soul from the path I've stomped in the road,
runnin full blast from a pitch black past where the gun kicked back from the life I stole.
As the preacher reads, his head held high like an alto sings,
tryna make sense of the present tense like an 8 year old peakin out the screen.
Now Im countin sheep, I wanna be pure like a mountain stream,
but my body was found down a hole in the ground in an unmarked grave by an old oak tree.
What I see when Im dreamin? Demons schemin, beggin me to free them.
Who am I and what is this? Just close your eyes and hit your 'grit.

Way down low in the belly of the holler where the flame burns slow thats where I go, it just takes hold of the hand of the man leadin me down the road.
Where the seed was sown,
strange fruit from the tree that the crows feed on, the crow's feet on my face show the lines, in the pines where the sunlight still doesn't shine.
Its like a dream where you fall... Its between me and God.
Blackbirds perched on top of the church, burnin holes in me like a fiend on the nod.
Anti-depressants next to the buckshot slugs in a box for the sawed-off Smith & Wesson,
the messages I receive seem to come from some voice in my head that's impossibe to run from.
Call it mental illness but to me its somethin more, they say that medicine will fix it but to me Im not so sure. Lock the door I cast it out but it comes back as other people, only proof that they are human is the blood that fills the needle.