Springtime Death Dream

The cycle’s out of style
Sick of the rot and bile
The kids have gone to shit
Broke and choking on spit

I don’t want to be a man
Making love with my hand
The bluish black has stained
What little there was to gain

I’ll deafen with the scream
A springtime death dream
And shoot my gun at the sky
To feel some sort of high

The lead will kiss my head
These eyes will soon see red
The cycle will end there
Along with spring’s despair