There's always been Louisiana Avenue and Menaul Boulevard; the same streets as Coranado Mall
right by where I'd transfer busses and had the worst luck.
Everything has changed, but those haven't.
Karma's built up from tagging ditches, not caring who'd see,
Staying at that house on Tennessee, or the hotel right down the street,
sneaking cigarette so I don't disappoint
my family and be less than they already think.
I don't want to go to college,
I don't want to live in the heat,
I don't want to move to California and be around the endless sea of people;
people scare me.
I don't want to live near family that can't see I want to live on the road and love the few people I hold close that I know will eventually grow to go away.
I want to be alone.
I want to steal seafoam green paint swatches from Walmarts across the United States,
and magic cards, too, though I know no one will play.
I've got a home on Wright Street, my old abodes on Clement and Austin,
even the apartments on Louisiana and Montgomery once held me
by the neck in my closet,
or in the tub when I was in-love with being strung out, fucked up and dumb.
Moving away doesn't numb your brain, same people different state, same problems, nothing's changed.