Conclusions from Mean Bone by Buzzard
Tracklist
| 11. | Conclusions | 3:57 |
Lyrics
Not a lotta room left for the trees,
Not a lot a room for the honeybees,
Not a lotta room for me,
Too many humans.
Not a lotta room left on the trail,
Not a lotta room to inhale,
Not a lotta room to scale
Another billion.
Not a lotta bloom left on the rose,
Not a lotta ice at the north pole,
Not enough walls to hold
The rising ocean.
Not a lotta space for me to think.
Not a lotta bandwidth for a shrink.
Not a lotta time to blink
When the back door opens.
Down the road, I keep moving
On my own, up the mountain.
You can come to your own conclusions.
Not a lotta logic. You can see
Nary a clue to the mystery.
It was never meant to be,
So I reckon.
There’s a whole lotte heroin, a whole lotta speed
A whole lotta killer weed.
A whole lotta horrible need
For oblivion.
Down the road, I keep moving
On my own, up the mountain.
You can come to your own conclusions.
Make a chart, make a graph,
Go ahead, add it up,
Do the math.
It’s us minus them minus you minus me minus her minus him
Divided by the sum, times none.
I still got some juice in the engine,
A couple few next of kin,
A handful of friends within my inner sanctum.
We got just one way to stay alive
With infinite ways to die.
A whole lotta nothing lies above us
Beckoning.
Down the road, I keep moving
On my own, up the mountain.
You can come to your own conclusions.
You can come to your own conclusions.
