Traveling Dunk Tank - Cecil Otter

That’s why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp 'till the hairs split

Prose of a lone cub in a bear pit

And I can barely sit

Still, you know the deal: wake, work, repeat

I’m trying to eat

I’m trying to free up them wings, trying to bear some teeth

Insignificance ain’t no signature I’m trying to leave

Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed

No predicament too twisted for speech, I’mma just be…

(Alone)

Back from seeing papa drink 40 O-U-N-C-E's just to quench

I’ll rise against all you rinse in me

You want your soundscape scraped, that’s my homeboy Cece

I’ll be that lung beater here to choke smoke and pent heaters

Warm the frostbite of the death cheaters

And maybe next year the check clears

Until that time, (Nickel and Dime)

No henny and shine, grind them gears

Me and Cece been up for years

Now peeking at how to live

How funny something so simple can leave you feeling so supple

Belly full, promise of struggle, never bull

Stay Doom through 'till the muscle

And I’ve been dreaming for a Cecil beat

Pasting on the canvas on the easel beat, needle point

Balance them anxieties

And fret with any spool or school of thought that keeps the cloth you stitch

indifferent

It’s not the pot you piss in

So now I stepped into the side saddle, riding all alone

My only weapon is my mind

That and knowing that the road wrote a story of its own entitled

«I am yours to loan, but I ain’t yours to own, no I ain’t yours»

And only open eyes would know the lines and quotes

And no I haven’t always kept my eyes open

So I’m (alone)

Without a home to call my own

Cause dreams are the only roads I roam

And I’m sleeping in a box car dreaming of the lost starts, preaching in Carhartt

Standing at the edge of this cliff, throwing little things off like rockstars

and car parts

These scars that are marking up my face and body

Are the songs that I write about you, but now I base them off me

I’m breaking laws that we alone don’t show a sign of purpose

So I’ll walk these lines and these fences until my time is serviced

These giant churches, burning witches, pretty perverts, city workers and

snitches

That shit’s just drying on the fan, the damned

I’ll keep my chin up, sit up, and stand (alone)

Just combing through the trust, the rust, the dust, the rush and the drunk angst

I cash my check at a blood bank

Plus I’ve got some clown make-up and a traveling dunk tank