To have a hand to hold
or a will to call your own.
To never know a feeling so cold
or to never ever be thrown.
There is only one choice to make
when we walk down the line
which choice will you take?
I've yet to take mine.
Because I want to be warm,
but I want to have a voice.
To keep my heart from harm
I must make a choice.
To exchange my will for kisses,
to replace silence for havoc,
to say hello to human feces
and say goodbye to the hammock.
So now I have to choose.
Do I live for servitude?
Where I have enough to lose,
or a life of solitude?
And drown in human booze.
