the night is picking on those strings again
with ancient tunes that drip
dripping, screaming whiskey down my throat
and eyes filled with lightning-bolts
life, streaked like rain across my windshield
as I speed through red flashing lights
with whispering ghosts and glorious sights
i'm a rocket bursting, spitting flames
spitting memories ringing, and birds that are singing
as we fall from the sky
sifting through photographs
times and people that needs a story
but i will make them wings with sheets and sticks
strapped to the back of notes that fly back in time
a time itching in the back of my head
make me open my skull and scratch my brain
just a little out of tune