Slept Through a Landslide

In the end you just get tired... tired of the struggle; tired of losing everyone that matters to you

Tired of watching everything turn to dust

That's a price worth paying

Is it?

My angels, my angels are tired

I get sleepy

Hell is nearly frosted and I'm feeling exhausted

Used to have direction, but now I've completely lost it

Tossing and turning, yearning for more

Dirt on the floor, foot through the door, search and report

Serpent of war, smoked out herbivore

"No man is an island," yeah, I've heard that before

Well, you certainly will drown off the shore, rotten to the core

Me and Jesse D is like hip-hop galore

Walking in croc skin, toxic waste written on my face

Frostbitten and lost without a trace

I might be sour, but you have no taste

And the mischief is a source of my grace

Crack statues open with lack of emotion

I've got wanderlust so I splash the vast ocean

The balance dangles, just like a pendulum

So go to sleep, beneath, my sweet Seraphim

My angels, my angels are tired

Dreams of falling asleep

I guess that's the time when I'm not depressed

But I'm STILL depressed

Life is good, but why am I so miserable, then

Burning my bridges at both ends, persistent cough

Laboured breathing. Easy on the syrup, a little wheezy

Twisting off caps, feeling effects of distortion

Reeling from dextromethorphan; drifting off

Sex is important, sleep is for the weekend, Hell is

Round the corner, it's tricky to rock-a-bye, we can tell

Dreaming of a Sopwith Camel cockpit, your dog soars

Me and twenty-three is like shoplift from stores

Rip off the gift shops and downtown boutiques

Count down to lift-off in new sneaks; push you in the

Bushes like Musique; it drips on the floor

Me and Krista Muir is like kids on a tour

Gone to war with ominous thoughts, anonymous authors of communist plots and

Omnivores when carnage is wrought, you run with McCarthy, we're punished with poverty