Seven Weeks

I’ve been living like a poor man
Lying on my back day after day
Waking up wearing the same old clothes once again
The vultures and vampires won’t go away

They bring me just enough to stay alive
The stuff you only eat when there’s no other way
Not quite dying but not all that alive
Why would I believe good things came to those who prayed?

Maybe this’ll be the day I meet a slab and a knife
I found out who I was when I lost seven weeks of my life

I’ve been living like a poor man
Like any other day, this could be my last
I’d like to think I could move the Maker’s hand
But then I’d have to turn my back on my past

Maybe this’ll be the day I meet a slab and and a knife
I found out who I was when I lost seven weeks of my life