Drinking, driving
I sleep like a shark around girls I meet after dark.
I tie them to the tracks (call me Hollywood), by train of thought I run ‘em flat (like I knew I could).
Embers can look like gold; for that my heart is ash.
Sinking, I’m dying.
Through the sheets, through the bed, through the floor, I think I’m goin’ to hell.
 
Laying, fading.
The crack to my closet door matters a little more.
There’s faces I stare at (and they’re in everything).
They’re agents who stare back (relentlessly).
Judgment is coming for all, but I’ll be cut no slack like most of the thieves, or the liars,
or the routine cheats, ‘cause I know that I’m something else and where I belong
and man I can’t take it.
The steps have gotten too steep.
If I’m a good man, it’s in someplace deeper.
But that’s a man that God wouldn’t reap, ‘cause addiction sold
that good man to slavery and I keep shaking him, but I can’t wake him up...
 
I think I’m goin’ to hell.

I haven't sold it, but my soul is rattled in this shell. 
My aim was heaven, but I'm quiet as I'm diving to hell.

Hell Is For Real...

My words can become weeps
with sights that I can't lift. 
I'm Atlas but I'm weak,
and no one's taking shifts.
If I let the whole world down
would seas pour out this spout of a mouth?
What can I laugh about?

It seems my love for alcohol has grown.
It soaks my shirts and voices the words I choke.
I gave in to the axis; earth tilts and rolls.
I've lost control.

Old weight tends to hold me down.
You saw me shaking.

Atlas

Each step is a climb until we are truly on top.

Email me us @ atlasontopband@gmail.com

Atlas on Top

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