Living With Myself

(альбом: Rare Birds - 2018)

I'm living with the fear of God every single day
I'm living with myself, I know not enough of whom I speak
I'm living like the Sheriff man patrolling this dirty boulevard
Hey, look, these Aviators, man, they completely cover my

I'm sailing on the air sometimes
And I'm really breathing deep this time

But then it comes (comes, comes)
That same old nagging feeling
I need to do wrong (wrong, wrong)
The lies, I start to believe them

I'm living with my purest pleasures as my memories
I'm living with a mess, I guess, I'll never even clean
I'm loving when I slide my hands inside a dirty deck of cards
Hey, look, these Aviators, man, they completely cover my

I'm sailing on the air sometimes
And I'm really breathing deep this time
I'm sailing on the air sometimes
And I'm really breathing deep this time

I know there was a place so long ago
Where I could go to find faith and purity
But nothing that sweet could ever inspire me
These darker thoughts, they are now guiding me

So it goes (goes, goes)
That same old nagging feeling
To do wrong (wrong, wrong)
The lies, I start to believe them, oh

I'm living with myself, I guess
I'm living with myself, I guess
I'm living with myself, I guess
I'm living with myself, I guess
I'm living with myself, I guess
I'm living with myself, I guess