In this dead road
Where NOBODY knows,
We escape into a one night stand
Of seclusion.
Away,
From all the intrusion.
Away,
From all the confusion.

In this exquisite buffet,
We pick up meals after meals,
And we gorge,
And we consume,
And we fill our bellies.
Like kings and queens, but without the crown,
But at least we’re far,
Faaar away from the crowd.

In this taboo haven,
We sit together in a circle.
Like people playing Ouija.
But instead of talking with the dead,
We talk about ourselves, THE dead.
And we proceed to cry and complain and confess and create
Chaos! Is what this road will witness.
This road, will be its only witness.

In this sacred pilgrimage of our Friday nights,
We come here, bones battered and beaten.  
To pseudo wine and dine.
To enjoy the silence as we sip and slurp,
To tell tall tales of how we messed up,
In search of validation, acceptance,
And hopefully,
Forgiveness.