Homestead

Scandalous and dreading existence
Is just another wish for death.
It's the town where patrons
Go to butchershops to meet there neighbors.
I walk on sour feet like this flesh kills me
And I don't want to touch the ground, anymore.
Yeah, some might say I've figured some things out.
We're just painting bones any color we like,
As if it's ok to overwrite audio play and
Truth in confession like,
I'm the man who doesn't know what he's doing here.
With sticks and stones you can build a house
Where they don't control how you hurt.
One day, I will have my own ground.