What’s your burden, baby, out of bourbon, baby?
Why you so mad, sweet thing?
You’ve got the world bending over just for you
it’s got you on its shoulders,
it’s no one’s fault you’re not doing what you should with it.
You’ve got the stars and you’ve got the swagger,
You’ve got the waves at Will Rogers and your legs in denim, kicking tires, lighting fires all the way to Bandelier.
You’re always on the move. My man,
You’re always burning through the never-ending fuel.
So why you always drowning to scream alone?
No te preocupes, mi corazon, don’t dry yourself out.
It’s not your fault you move so fast pero it is your job to ensure you never slow.
Put the glass down, baby cakes,
keep the ice for you to cool,
you ain’t reigning in your bronco spirit by forgetting how to run at night.
You were meant to be the dude who exhausts and explodes
Infinity like a stardust snow
an unwavering ocean,
Worlds deep, fifty thousand fathoms deep,
And you’re resting just on top,
Forever moving as you rest.
Resting as you always move, resting cause you always move,
So why you angry, stud?
It’s no one’s fault you’re set to see it all and feel it all and scream it all and fuck it all
and it’s no one’s doing you were always going to tire
From never being tired.
From always being hungry.
From always wanting more with your insatiable grace.
It’s no curse. There is no haunting.
Resign to your fury,
the blunder of your gluttony,
There you’ll find your peace.