It’s a sad day when Kurt Cobain makes sense, And the grounds in my coffee are floating like fish, And the mood has a hint of truth, And I cast a green shadow on the lawn, And those whose journeys I touch crumble; Then I feel it--Like the wraith I am. So white: A pale column of smoke Filtering through the ruins of lives Like a war’s early morning haze, The fumes of sorrow enter the jungle I’m in, And I walk out in mock retreat: So white. White. So so white. I'm in a bad way when no one pays the rent, And the wounds in my body are voting for fish. And the room has the stench of death, And I vanish with the light of dawn, And I oppose the Furies and my life crumbles; Then I feel it--Like the wraith I am. So white: A pale column of smoke Filtering through the ruins of lives Like a war’s early morning haze, The fumes of sorrow enter the jungle I’m in, And I walk out in mock retreat: So white. White. So so white.
