Gray afternoon,
The clouds have come in,
And I haven’t left my apartment all day.
Gray afternoon,
My serotonin’s fading,
And the last of the weed is gone.
Gray afternoon,
Coming down
And strungout.
I feel like Hunter Thompson,
But my fear is now,
And my loathing comes soon.
You’re my only friend;
Gray afternoon.
Somebody’s smoking cigarettes
By the building
Outside.
The smell is drifting up.
I try and try but I can’t hide.
No, the incense is burning,
But my mood isn’t turning around.
Would you look how I do?
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