On his way to Absalom
Sold his soul for the medicine,
Old news but I'd expect it of you
If you lived a mile from the heartland
I'd expect no less than a phone call
Every day that you're without the same
On this manner you refuse to speak
Let alone let the news speak for me
You're so strange and you're losing your place
Well you should think as the other tongue
What a waste of two lives if we never talk
Can't believe that you killed me - are you killing me still?

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS