birds on ice

[hardon]

it's good to be knee-deep
in concentration's wreckage
fishing in our bobbleheads
fluttering like captive birds

empty nights and bottles turn
cold shoulders into cushions
thru a muddy ocean haze
in so many fucked up ways

there's something plastic surgery
about the way she leans on me
deer eyes and a wedding ring
reflection's such a dirty thing

I hear it crack under my feet
and I'm stuck to the ice
forget the numbers on the tab
give me another feeling, Sam