Rocks in the Dryer

Dad I’d like you to see me as your son
My mother was the pot
She held the warm dirt ready for your seed
In her embrace you’ve seen me grow
And now I’m out there on the road
Meeting girls who move their tongues in figure eights
I showed up drunk to graduation
That’s been my way of moving on
Pill and highway getaways
They made blurs feel like a light parade
But this tunnel has no clear end
And I think it’s time
That I made some investments
And made my way away
And I think it’s time
I listened to the priests who warned for misery
Because so far it’s all I’ve seen
And so far they’ve been dead on
And yah,… it’s getting pretty hot in here too.
The smoke that’s trailing from your cigarette
It dreams of yellow fingers
And a voice that sounds like rocks in the dryer
I’ve seen some cute things but you host
A scent that smells like east Japan
And the smell of fifteen other men
My love, you can’t very well get your life back now