How many dead horses have been beaten to death this week?
How many exactly does it take to qualify us all as weak?

We’re still on this endless trip
And I’m really tired of talking about it.
Johnny Cash’s greatest hits
I’ll never hear them the same again.
You don’t call them on the phone.
You’re gonna pill yourself to death tomorrow.
I think I’d like to thank myself
For never riding in the tank.
I’d rather have an honest nervous breakdown
Right out in the rain.
Instead of lying to myself
On a splendid, beautiful sunny day.
I’d rather be poor and be relatively happy
Than be a billionaire lawyer with a loaded magnum
Up his flappy gums.

There’s a psycho inside me.
My psycho is a dumb vampire
That much is clear to me.
That much should be so clear to you.
We’re getting long in the tooth.
Every dentist trip I take
I have to fool them ruthlessly.
I can’t let them think I’ve accomplished nothing.
I’m afraid of looking in the mirror
Yet I yearn to see how others see me
When I’m truly being me.
When I’m truly at peace with everything.
But I’m addicted to the thrill of judging myself the hardest.
If that and a guitar make me an artist
I feel bad for real artists.

Can I admit a sin?
This trip couldn’t have been more stupid.
I’m such a simple, little speck
But I’m told it’s more convoluted.
I’ve got resting bland face
From the lack of oxygen intake.
What if they take a picture?
I’ll look like a bore and they’ll be on my case.

But really…

Some would shake my hand.
Some would spit right in my god damn face.
But wouldn’t most think I’m a grain of sand
On a hidden beach that’s lost in space?

How many dead horses have been beaten in this song?
How many more times will I recycle thoughts and feel so wrong?

Probably a bunch.