The Mule's Hind Leg

I drink the red, I spit it up, tipping my glass
I can never shut up. I try to heal, the wound
never shuts, I'm always on the downside.
And hopefully I try to spell, the story of a
busted tale, another bucket in the well of forward, backward, sink and steal.
And you and them my friend,
relieve yourselves with gifted grace,
I move the idler that I am.
I am the baptized, backhanded, bandit, brother
tucked into the day, neatly packed away and breathing gently, we are the waves.
But who are they? I hope that you, I hope that
you can be my wave and all that we can be
eventually will keep us free.
I try to break the chorus, always bring
unsober judgement, I try to wake myself up
now. I'm waiting on razors.
Singing Vauderville.
I'm behind you.
Sincerely I don't even know a single thing.
This vessels here.