It’s not as effortless as it was, or maybe it was never this effortless at all
I've been ground down like an ink stone with no more to give
September turns to October and it leaves you a husk of man with a fruitless harvest
All the rain in the world doesn’t feel like the rain in New Jersey
Let me sleep in my old rib cage I’ve excavated from my once healthy flesh.
I’m a ghost on the train moving towards my location