Good Brother Earl
Checking Out
Take a ride on my hospital bed. Trace the footprints of the living dead. Come walk with me in my world for a while, where the color white is the only thing in style. On each sunrise I place my reliance. I breathe through a miracle of science. The smell of the ocean rolls through my window, and the smell of death stains this very pillow. A flower wilts while a priest is still kneeling. Some machine tells me exactly how I'm feeling. My head lies on the wrong side of fate. While one hand knocks on Saint Peter's Gate I am a prisoner in society. And I'm doing time for my infirmity. The hands of time wash me away in a flood.
I've grown quite accustomed to the taste of my own blood.
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