Life Wind The wind blows life my way And deposits stuff in my hair Like molded sprinkly things on doughnuts But not just in my hair It leaves trash in my soul In the deepest, most private part of my soul Where nothing, not even the wind, should ever go. But now it is there Like some kind of armed intruder With a big, evil weapon A weapon that has spikes And shoots bullets, too A weapon that will not let me rest And keeps me awake almost every night My torment is awful Really awful I just can't explain how awful But it is a little bit like Smelling a skunk Or watching somebody Self-pierce their navel Will this black wind ever cease, Or am I doomed to Rancid skunk smells forever?