The Sound Part 2

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