Asa Phelps Is Dead

Hey, Brother, can you spare the time?
Skin and bones that's melting in a backwards way to grow
Out of heart and out of mind
And kiss me in the rearview when you go?
Dying at 23, I'm trying on my apathy
With a tired conversation floating in this ether sky
Tried again too many times and doesn't it get worse?
Sit and stare
Seems like we're running out of dimes
Bodies that we burn as fuel, irreversible decline
Pocket lint and turpentine
Warm my insides, wash these ashes from my eyes
Death with an attitude, I'm putting on my Sunday suit
Tired as a conversation held one too many times
A year or two or three or ten or twenty more?
Waiting