My hand is chained to my pain
holding hers helpless to let it go
and too powerless to keep it;
but when the wind changes
and the sky rages
the lightning can strike ya
if you don't run for your life
despite the strife it lays out.
It ain't 'bout this or that
but all of it that too much
sludge will pull you under
when you're foolin' yourself
that thunder is only thunder
without a strike hidden in a fist
full of words that always insist
you're as wrong as the sun at midnight;
that's the plight of it and
that's all I know, for now.
