Lt Headtrip - Conductor

Oh my drunken conductor, lend me your hands
Take a wrench to my best laid plans
My stoned composer, lend me your ear
Share your thoughts and your untethered fears
My wrecked director, lend me your eye
Spill your ink on my precious designs
My drunken conductor share your guidance
He leaves a trail of pigment and text strung in his path
Like so many liquid bread crumbs on a map
If he strays from home his pen name will get him back
He’s painted the city sanguine; he’s brushed his lungs black
The streets hold the walls of his unassuming gallery
His rugged paws hold the hues of his pallet
He’d scout like-hearted recruits from the ruins of battlefields
And invite them to fight for their passion. A human, a valkyrie
When he’d grace my studio, he’d stay on the balcony
Lick another rollie, take a sip and light the bogie
Wrote his name on a folding chair and the window in my vestibule
So I’d remember him every time I entered
You’d swear never once in your life met a lush so prudent with his thoughts
If only that was true about his heart
If only that was true after dark, after a shot or too
Many, after the booze dulled that beautiful spark
My friend’s a smoker
And a lover and a soldier
Oh my drunken conductor, lend me your hands
Take a wrench to my best laid plans
My stoned composer, lend me your ear
Share your thoughts and your untethered fears
My wrecked director, lend me your eye
Spill your ink on my precious designs
My drunken conductor share your guidance
The blind lead the blind just fine through the darkness
His H.Q. was home for a stray few
And sanctum for many refugees longin’ to make due
His kitchen table was engraved with visitors’ handles
And stained with cigarette ashes. and they always came through
I copiloted sessions of dope sonic inventions
And wrote wild and reckless to those progressions
He slowed time with the tempo control slider
His methods are both violent and gentle. explosive impressions
He’d flip a psychedelic sample into gibberish
And sync it up sexy on some punk rock ricochet
Then hit a microscopic ramble of a melody
And stretch it out to merge into his junkyard symphony
His eyes bluer than his mood somehow
His lies truer to his loosened self. Could use some help
And he ain’t scared to ask for it
I’m just worried he don’t think that he’s worthy of happiness
See, my friend’s depressed
I hope that it’s okay to be a mess
Oh my drunken conductor, lend me your hands
Take a wrench to my best laid plans
My stoned composer, lend me your ear
Share your thoughts and your untethered fears
My wrecked director, lend me your eye
Spill your ink on my precious designs
My drunken conductor share your guidance
The blind lead the blind just fine through the darkness
My friend’s a writer. My friend’s a smoker
My friend’s a crier and a lover and a shoulder
His head’s on fire. His chest smolders
My friend’s just uses his extinguishers for throw ups though
My friend’s a teacher. My friend’s depressed
Our friendship’s taught me it’s okay to be a mess sometimes
But when it’s dire, I wish he’d slow down
I hope he’ll try to quelle the fire in his soul now
My friend’s a rider. My friends a soldier
An old soul with a young man’s aura
His head's on fire. His chest smolders
My friend just uses his extinguishers for throw ups

Written by:
Patrick Childers

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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