Can caskets do back flips, laugh, clap, crack in half hatchets, immolate the earth that keeps victory hopeless for you? A bucket of rockets saves my pockets. Better assess your pain, than appease yourself now, and get your feet up off burnt and burning ground. I'll be swinging with a bat that got a life struck out. Breakthrough, I gotta break this skull and drain it, but I'm one hard headed beast. Creeping up on ghosts to haunt at my best. Saving cash on guns. The bullets live inside me. Bullfights with a bright side. Gored and loving it. Buy one get one. I'll see to it that I lose a quart of blood. Rickety features defiled by the lying cops, and cops are cutting deals with the judge. I've got fidgety fingers finagled into fighting anything that'll fight back. I bet this is what anybody in a pickle would want to clarify- "When you're winning, save the pickle." Well aren't you sick of failure after failure and shipwreck after shipwreck? There's victory but it's not in this world! Death loves our scent, loves our posture, and it's got more will than you got to live. So here I sit with a burned out candle and a box full of wet matches. I know who killed me all this time. Yeah all these leads they point to these hands of mine. But there is hope for you my friend, there is hope if you can see the end.