Bottom Feeder (Segue 3)

Lyrics

Long walks with my temper Take me down a dead end street In contemplation; Where do we start at the end? Before I could collect myself I'm vacuumed in by a figure's armspread With fiery gasps of iron-air Cornered in my circle of friends Won't he speak to you? Emptied on the floor Were the shells of my defenses Placing in his own Bullets of condescendence Those people shafted me Of my social weaponry