The clouds turned into spiny chestnut shells And when they'd rain down my skin would swell And the morning song birds were replaced with crow And the spiny shelled rain would stick to me like Velcro The beat up tin I'd like to call my car Would deliver me and all to only a lonely bar And I would ponder this disease like a peeling onion skin striptease And I would live to let it win When I was raw (When I was wrong.) Being way too tall for any self regulation I'd invite the devil in and his entire nation What in tarnation? Being way too small to let any angel love me I would spit on the ground they shadowed And in the air they flew above me When I was raw (when I was wrong.) When I was raw It took a year or two To scavenge what was left Now I walk with much more rhythm Over the mines I might've dug and left I was so tainted when I set them Being blinded from rage Now I glide until I stumble But now they fail to engage Mmmmmmmmm