I'm 9 to 5 praying for you
The 9 o'clock gray in the back
I'm sorting my way to the blue
See a shell of you where I collapsed
Eye-red letters
Were a hellish view into the black
Stifle profane, gain a curse
I avert the pain glazed in his eyes
Future was a dream, just some words
Now it's wringing your arms dry
I tried to read on
My brother asks for $60 cash
He's got to pay his cab fare
Discharged from Hoag
He swore to the bone over and over
Note after note
It's gotta be—no
