When I Hit the Interstate

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Freebased Propane

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I would rather be alone than depend on another for home.
"Don't go," my friends are crying out, "just come home and maybe we could talk it out!"

"Ready or not! Here I come!" I shout to the concrete below.
Share peace of mind if you have enough, 'cause lately I've been running low.
I'm so angry my mouth starts to foam, accentuating my yellowed teeth.
You watch as I self destruct. You watch, as I slowly sink.

Just keep your head straight, pointed up when I leave.
When I hit the interstate we can then look back safely.
A violent past has created a violent man.
I'm sick of disputing the facts, so I avoid them when I can.
True enough, even though nothing goes as it's planned
I've pushed myself away. I'm as far back as I bend.

Seems I'd rather be on drugs than end up in a decent home.
Well, it goes to show that my past has a presence here.
The present is all I fear.
I'm so sick of hiding away
while my issues nip the back of my heels.
It takes too much to get through the day, and the pressure is all too real.
I fear that I've gotten too close, so I leave before you see me there.
It's for our own good, I suppose.
I admit that I a getting scared.

I tire of running away as my feet begin to ache.
I keep going anyways, I'm easily replaced.
I'm wired on cheap cocaine; my teeth fall from my face.
My bones are being held together by an old, worn out shoelace.  

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