I miss the drunks. The y3lling. The inhalation of beer and cigarettes Chased down by ego and godlessness.
How many times hqve I written to this song, and never heard beauty once?
Like the sweet pinch of a grapefruit, before the sunset of sweat, the same sunset that hailed warfare for boys.
I loved you so much once, I still do, but you are like mist, and I am blind.
I miss backstabbers, creeps, catfish, vampires, crows, an angel.
When I was young I would screech down the hill in my toy truck, plastic chassis a powerhouse, canary and howling, I'd crash into the same cherry tree a million times.