Don’t get nothin’ outta days work.
Don’t get nothin’ outta ridin’ free.
Don’t get nothin’ outta in between.

The most I get is in my dreams.

I dream of wanderin’, runnin’ free.
I dream of work until I up an leave.
I dream of the mountains and the open sea.

Her chilling breath wrenching me as she clickety-clacks through the blaze of trees.

It’s hard to explain this curse…you see…

It both pains and heals, mending wounds so deep.

But somewhere between it all I’d rather not have to think…

And so I pack it all up and well damn…I leave.

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