Ran out of every last story that I can think to tell 
And I'm scrapin for some dirty water at the bottom of my well 

Pick you up some flowers, on this curb I will wait and sit 
But I got holes in my umbrella, now I am soakin wet 

Poor me, poor boy
I don't mean to sound like that 
I got a liquor store across the street
They know me by my first name, Jack 

Well I can't see what's in front of me 
And I'm feelin good 
I know you won't take my hand
But I wish you would 

Then you pull me down from my high horse 



Poor Boy

Weekend Toph

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