Duck Hunt

He was a good man, I think. Finally graduated to writing love songs. Didn't believe he'd ever be here, understanding what lovesick radio spam felt like on the inside of inspiration. Purgatory is a burning sensation, indecision, and he's paying for his crimes against god.

I'm here, I'm straddling a coffin. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. You, choose sleep, it's easier.

Go
Give'er.
Gun it.
That woman with her cell phone at the stop light didn't either. I don't want to be the duck that bumps into walls of a Nintendo screen, waiting for your Miniature Australian Whatever. BANG, right?
Did you hit me or am I flying away?

You had an alibi and it's smiling at me from someone else's eyes. And in dreams; I see you September and I'm losing the crystal image of your face in my head. We're decomposing.

Hit me with your shovel, kiss me, I won't feel it. You were the last person I lived for. Remind me, my flesh in flames and laying beside you, that I survived a piece of hell. Another duck, another day.

World was on fire and no one could save me but you.
What a wicked game to play.