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Leaving Stockholm

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I wake up. Pray for rain. But every day seems to end the same. It's bone dry. There's no mercy. No there ain't none of that put aside for me. And you better believe that I got better rifles for my bitter rivals. And I chalked out a plan: tomorrow we take the sea, but today we take the land. And she's crying all the goddamned time. She's got them tears in her eyes. She says: " Dear your symptoms are growing and the apathy's growing. She said: " Where are you going? " Cause it's nowhere. No, you're not leaving. Pray for rain. And I have a hard time choosing the stone I like to hit my head on. But this one feels soft. And I have a hard time choosing the cage that I like to call "home", now I'm leaving Stockholm. Yeah, I'm leaving.