Mothers Milk

You got too much of mothers milk
You got too much of all the filth
And I can see when I look at you
Pasty skin in the shade of blue
But it ain’t hard
It ain’t hard to see
A wrong thought will be the death of me
Dusty speakers and a rusty snare
I sit waiting for I am the heir
To whatever’s in my blood
Boiling black, catalyst forming in the mud
But it ain’t hard
It ain’t hard to see
I’m entitled to the symphony
Is there a correlation
Between all my thoughts and hits
I sit in contemplation until
I slowly submit
I was sure that I was dying at the hospital
I wasn’t ready, I guess I feel purpose after all
But it ain’t hard
It ain’t hard to see
That sickness hibernates in me