The Clam
John Noir Smith
Surrounded by love
Apparently
I feel lonelier
Than a clam out at sea
And I hate myself
About eighty percent of the time
The rest I’m often flowing
Or sinking
Or thinking
It’ll be alright
I think it’ll be alright
It seems I am fucked up
Why else would it be?
That I can’t
I can’t
I can’t see the future for me
And I keep
I keep
I keep pushing them away
And I hope
I hope
I hope it’ll be better some day
It’ll be better some day
(Will be better some other day)
But that seems impossible
Now
