I didn't see your message
I was sipping on that Quicksand

An active imagination
Is a gentleman's way of saying you're full of shit

Is it just me or do these days just drag on
Get some ice and pour, trip out on the lawn

There's a new concoction
For a base use gin
A dash of horse hair
And a whole lot of white
Eight parts accidental muscle failure
We call it the Quicksand

When what our eyes perceive as life becomes too much to bare
You know me, bottom's up, but beware
Eight parts accidental muscle failure
I fell victim to the Quicksand