Johnson
At the threshold, of the day
I complained of the records you played
Unforgivable were the sounds
Of the sh** that you blared from the house
CHORUS
And I guess I was just shaken by the rage
Hard fisted, pissed, tired and feathered
Freshly escapen from the cage
And I suppose you were just searching for something to say
You were smelling medicinal, juggling the daggers
That I tried to hide away
Along with the sultry pictures
That never once met my unholy demands
The slings and hammers that you've collected
The poisionous arrows and happiness found in an axe
CHORUS
The sweet, tranquil end of the day
Was sodden with liquor, in conditional anger we lie
Under fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling
Your custom made universe, as we take to the sky
CHORUS