Crouton Days

A song I wrote.

Crouton Days


I bite my tongue.
Drawing spit to the sides of my cheeks.
A mouth full of teeth.
Grind-ed down to the gums.
I rest my head on queen sized beds.
A cage with three bathrooms, a four car garage
and the one that I drive every morning to the cold.
My beak has frozen and my wings are clipped.

I had my golden days appraised.
A ten dollar bill for my troubles.
I had to pick up a new cable.
For my stupid songs.
Pawned off my imagination for a couple realitys.
And traded them off for goals I can't achieve
Then lost that too.

But it's not so bad.