On the Gallows - Fog

Lately as I ulcer in a new heir of unaccountable,
son, I've begun to repent you expecting anything of me.
I've no pretty pills for you, blow no high holy horns for this.
Should the radiation crumple us, hush in our disintegrating bed.
If I soldier up and church it out, railing straight and comfortable in a crowd-
what difference would it make? If I'm here or wrong?
The lights are on and everyone is gone.
Should I die like a dog on the gallows, dear,
sing a song unto my ear and make my fear be gone.
Oh, don't render me sticky yet-
let me be stored in a cool, dry place.
Here lies a shook one, deserting an army of none.
Was I awake when the s**t went down?
Did I have enough in my account to skip town?
Did they set fire to the home that I lived in?
Did they feed me to my next of kin?
Was the media there? Did they handcuff me and throw me to the ground?
Did they read me my rights all wrong?
Did they read me my rights out loud?