It was when time didn't exist.
We threw out the clocks,
and I didn't own a watch.
Couldn't keep time for ****.
It was when we tossed it all aside
for a drunken night drive
up and down the twisted skids.

We were an ode to recklessness,
a bitter song of youth.
We were truth,
we were soaked with it.
I focused on getting lit,
and not giving a ****
about anything beside
having a good ******* time.
We were the New Street crew,
the spot was only one room
but we had the bunk beds
and still pulled ******* too.

Both getting paid out,
at least until
the unemployment ran out
even then we still
kept on keeping on,
listening to those same ****** songs.
In that same ****** room,
ripping the same ****** bongs.
We were brothers back then.
We were brothers.

Clocks came back, life found us hidden.
I was waking up with burns on my skin.
I was waking up without anything
to keep me from going at myself again.
He saw that dread,
that the bitter voice in my head
always painted on my face
and it turned into a race.
A race to the end for me,
a race to be gone for him.
He was my brother,
and I was a freeloading *******.