a box full of things that don’t make sense anymore

A lot’s ridin’ on a lack of rain tonight,
and the sun speaks too shy on my crazy skin.
Typewriters are machine guns for some.
Pens and swords have too much in common
when our Che Guevaras lack sadness.

There’s a lot ridin’ on a lack of rain tonight, and it’s hard for me to believe clouds break. I thought they were more fluid that. And it’s hard for me to believe in solidity tonight, when everything is punchin’ change in my face.

Me, I don’t wanna be another disappointment in your life. Ridin’ a horse, hair blowin’ towards the sunset doesn’t lure me. Let me break for you. Just let me break for you. And I swear, not a single promise will be fulfilled.