There’s a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me
Waiting like a stalking buttler
Who upon the finger rests
Murder now, the pattern called “must we”
Just because the son has come
Jesus,wont you fucking whistle ?
Something but the past and done
Jesus, wont you fucking whistle
Something but the past and done
Why can’t we not be sober?
I just want to start this over
And why can’t we drink forever?
I just want to start this over
Tool
Maynard truly has a way with words, even if this is early Tool: kind of raw and not as elaborate like nowadays. The good news is having them on a venue nearby in just a couple of months.
anchorite 