Abacus -

This is me four beers in

A sad sorry sack of shit

Sluttering May 4th and it’s 11 past 11 and I am

Wishing that two years felt less like two minutes

Oh, how the calendar weighs heavy as if it hung itself on me

And I wish I could get this drug test over with

Because it feels like I’ll never get high again

And I’m living life on shot-clocks as if my twenties didn’t have another five

years (left)

To grow or accomplish anything

Saving time, sharing shorts

No you can kill it

«Days and days and days and days of sour grapes»

I wish I had the type of friends that knew that I would die for them

I wish I weren’t as loyal as I am

I don’t believe in anything

But I pretend to have a soul

I don’t believe in anything

But I pretend to have a soul

It makes things much more comfortable