Wounds

I count the marks along my head

is my glass half full or am I dying instead

I wonder how it came to this

is it just bad luck or the absence of bliss

And when the clock strikes noon

I do already know

I count my wounds along the way

Oh how I long for simpler days

I found a pair of gloves on a sunken tray

yet I will stick to my answers

but who will get me them when there is no wind blowin

And when the clock strikes noon

I do already know

I count my wounds along the way

Along the way

And when the clock strikes noon

I do already know

I lick my wounds along the way