The Sound Part 2 - William McDowell

WILLIAM MCDOWELL

I will make myself, a mile from the racetrack, drag my losses home

It kills me not come back

And we float with parasites all our lives

There’s me with the geriatrics at the slot machines

There’s me, the embodiment of how slow life can be

There’s me

Their dead eyes are glowing.

Mine are always shut

I passed out on the road, just hours from the racetrack

I saw Lamotta raise a toast

He said «you got me with the right jab.»

And we float with parasites all our lives with this advice

We learn until we’re dead

Be losers til your sanguine thoughts subside

We learn until we’re dead

A falling dream’s not just a morbid sign

It’s opportunity

If you could make this old heart young again I’d find another topic to drone on

A more fashionable vice to lean on

Some better words to speak on that escaped my younger form

But there’s me with the geriatrics at the slot machines

There’s me

The embodiment of how slow life can be

There’s me

Short of imposing, please be involved

Can I stop imploding at every obstacle thrown on me?

Imply this is only a prettier glimpse of a life so ugly that’s mine