i'm the soldier without the kill
like the mystery without the thrill
i'm the nausea without the pill
i'm still movin but i'm still
i'm the convict that's not guilty
like a soul with mortality.
i'm the story that's not complete
i'm the sailor who has lost its fleet
i'm the party without the guests
like the loser who tries his best...
i'm the artist without the skill...
broken blades of the windmill.
i'm the shooter's one blind eye
i'm the catcher without the rye.
- D'yer Mak'er
- “...drifting to the streets of no destination was my eternal passtime... n' then comes the moment of gettin' caught in the swamps of memory... followed by hurried motion of arms n' legs. suffocatin' in the depths of past again n' again. all of these had a custom of layin' myself down in the tracks of reality.. n' then' would come the train of life... tearin' n' shatterin' every part of me. to still carry myself all torn n' withered n' broken was undoubtedly the worst part.”
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