I'm walking through the pines with a cigarette in hand
The devil's in my pocket and death is right behind
I'm going to the place where light cannot exist
It's castaway by branches moving slowly through the mist

To be just one more just like unconscious cattle, that's not for me no...
I know I'll die young, but I've learned not to call this body home...



The moon is coming out and the sky begins to die
Resembles the inside of the man who walks alone
If I bury my soul in the place where I might die
I'd still be far away from being unafraid to go

To be just one more just like unconscious cattle, that's not for me no...
I know I'll die young, but I've learned not to call this body home...

To be just one more, just one more from the flock, that's not for me no...
I know I'll die young, but I've learned not to call this body home...

thestorytree