| Fumbling down east on hastings street |
| Foot-path, blanket stores at our feet |
| It’s 8 pm but they all just dont care |
| They trip n I we tell ourselves not to stare |
| When in jericho down at the beach |
| The place where those black rabbits meet |
| It’s hard to tell if they’re all really there |
| Numb gums and i tell myself not to stare |
| Sometimes it treats me like a psycho |
| But I can tell you really loving dope When I’m tumbling down this spiral |
| And grab pen to make some sense of me |
| Sketching on scars |
| Scribbling on feet |
| You drew me off guard |
| While you’re feeling sweet |
| Shifting apart |
| Our colors meet |
| Your system restarts |
| While I’m tripping on weed |
| Bleached clean im pacing down at the creek |
| When my eyes and the scary sign meet |
| Shout and scream when a koyote is seen |
| And I envision this terrible blood lust machine |
| Sometimes it treats me like a psycho |
| Cause I can’t tell the good from trippy shit |
| When I’m tumbling down this spiral |
| And grab pen to make some sense of it |
| Sketching on scars |
| Scribbling on feet |
| You drew me off guard |
| While I’m tripping on Bad weed |
| Old Speed |
| Salty Sweets |
| Strange Leads |