The clouds turned into spiny chestnut shells

And when they'd rain down my skin would swell

And the morning song birds were replaced with crow

And the spiny shelled rain would stick to me like Velcro

The beat up tin I'd like to call my car

Would deliver me and all to only a lonely bar

And I would ponder this disease like a peeling onion skin striptease

And I would live to let it win

When I was raw

When I was wrong

Being way too tall for any self regulation

I'd invite the devil in and his entire nation

What in tarnation?

Being way too small to let any angel love me

I would spit on the ground they shadowed

And in the air they flew above me

When I was raw

When I was wrong

When I was raw

When I was wrong

When I was wrong

It took a year or two to heal

To scavenge what was left

Now I walk with much more rhythm

Over the mines I might've dug and left

I was so tainted when I set them

Being blinded from rage

Now I glide until I stumble

But now they fail to engage