if the sun won't return my calls || the panda trash

through the smoky haze a heady mix of tobacco and sweat the dregs come stumbling on in with not-ready-for-confession regrets, pursed on parched and pleading lips. I'll play both the parts victim and perpetrator, in a breathless dance a night of reckless decadence that the sun would be ashamed to admit was a barrel of laughs, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha oh baby can’t you take a joke? I’m broke. if the sun won’t take my calls i’ll spill my guts to the moon and the stars if i’m incompatible… walk me off like the shameful odor of a skunk baby, you’ll be walking till the break of dawn. better get your fit bit, boy you’ll be getting all your steps in if the daylight shuns my love I’ll pledge my peace to the pitch black dark maybe i belong now to the night… to the howling to the nightmare eyes to the dive bars, to the headlights to the ski masks and the drive bys to the unseen, to the unclean to the tattoos, to the afterhours freaks to the last round, to the scenic route back home… run you off the time for strolling is long past the moon up there is dropping fast my belly’s kinda empty, no way your flesh will be my last