And it switched my man,
Ain't one found of his bones
Creaking in the closet
                         Upstairs,
With the bare bulbs and spiders crawling the dust
Of the night show
                     *

1965- you're the protagonist with your analyst at 280 an hour,
50 minutes on the shrink watch.
Staring in the oblivion of Tuesday.
                      *
And you remember 1942, and your ****** and your scared,
And you hide in the ***** dens.
You don't smoke it, you just low,
Knowing the hopheads won't hurt you.
And the old man can't find you here.
You wait for him to leave for work.
Because you wanted to **** him.
And you swore he'd answer for those moments.