"trucker" poems
I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that's getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I'm no sucker.
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold.
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don't care.
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled.
I am spontaneous and I am a bore,
forever forgiving, I still keep score.
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise.
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of stone, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind.
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused.
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
an occasional liar just keepin' it real.
I am weird and lovely and mean-
I am what I am.......100 Aileen.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
me wish me wasnt a trucker
me wish me had 5 foot dreads
me ave to act like a trucker
and pucker me lips for me wife
me wish me was on de island
where all de noises is silent
we wish me could dig for diamonds
and smoke all de ganga me wish
and eat dead fish of de road
be broke like a true reggae mon
me wish me was never born
because me never gona be a reggae boy
me hart is as torn as me cloth.
me want to love a reggae woman
and implant me reggae seed.
and grow me some reggae children
and show dem da way of de ganga
me wish.
love reggae.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Streaks
from worn out wipers
dented cans, plastic wrappers
the glow of a cigarette ****
lying comfortably
in the ashtray
white knuckles tight
on a weathered wheel
empty roads
cold and black
eyes tired but open
like trucker stops
or roadside diners
with the neons
still on
I keep driving
teetering between
my existence
and a sweet dream
I’d slip into that slumber
if not for the passengers
still fast asleep
in my back seat
So I keep driving
as quiet
and as lonely
as it may be
I keep driving
because
somebody
is putting
their trust
in me
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Trucking on the country road
Welcomed citizens waving in behold
Trucking wheels making the hill climb
Checking my rear view mirrors at the same time
Country music playing on the radio
I am observing families having a good time on their patio
I am blowing my trucker’s horn
It’s the cars I want to warn
Driving at 65 miles per hour
I have a tight schedule, and must be on time in arrive
I have very important cargo and that’s no jive
I stopped at a diner for a little bite
As it is going to be a very long night
It will be my trucker’s headlights
But to my fellow truckers I must be polite
It will be driving through towns and pass cities downtown
A moving highway into destination bound
But smoky will be on my tail
So I can’t speed being the trail
As my truck heads into the sunrise, it’s the flashing lights that make my wheeler’s wise.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
the working girl approached him
a busy cardiff pub
stockings and suspenders
gave his leg a rub
hundred quid, i'm yours tonight
whatever you desire
heart beat like a big bass drum
his calvin kliens on fire
could not believe his fortune
what a stroke of luck
so he made her paint his house
and clean his ***** truck
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
Walk with me n be my Friend:
fending oFF thee awful Qualm,
calming all the thoughts of Death.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
Talk to me if no one Else.
"tell me what to do aGain?...
...death is gonna Haunchew."
Mirror Mirror on the Wall,
Waltzing in my ball of Hair;
share the Yarn of all you Bear,
spare the Rod n chop the Sheers.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
"Welcome to the slums of Hell."
help me Speak in bleeding Tongue.
"vi la Vita......vi de Vel".
Mirror Mirror on the Wall:
wall of Talking thought so Clear;
hear the Fall of waldo's Water,
thrall the Call of ocean Odlaw.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
call my Bluff n cuff my Arms,
bar my Cell n sell my Soul,
sow the Seed n reap its Rose.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
flaunt my Card n guard the Door.
Youre the one im steering Clear of...
..."ofCourse you are."
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
all i Know is no ones Lost,
mossy Oak is all i Know,
frozen Walls i call my Home.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
all you Are ish ards of Glass;
lashing Out n always Laughing,
laughing as you watch me Ball.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
all you Do is use my Tears.
here you Are with all the Cotton,
swabbing all my flaws n Fears.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
call me what you always Do:
stupid Queer n weird n Ugly."dont
******* Tell me what to Do."
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
talk the way you always Have:
Chanting like a ******* Trucker,
Cussing like a ******* Sailor.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
Hollow be my only Name.
satan stole my only Halo:
angel of a broken Cross.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
Follow me n see my View.
you should see what i have Saw...
...all ive seen is You.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
all you Are is all i Am.
have you not a ******* Conscience?...
..."obviously Not."
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
walk a long this haunted Path.
after That if you can Laugh...
...so can I.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall;
all youve Done is run n Hide.
'and Then...
...tyler was Gone.
was iaSleep?...
...had i Slept?'
- Jack's Medulla Oblongata
.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
the hills were beginning to grow
the grass greening on the approach
to Blue Earth, and how
in summer
Minnesota shed her old coat
to shy guilty into brief silty lakes
like the
joy of a little kid, sneaking a forbidden dip.
remarking, casually, about
white warm flowers hung low from
planned oaks, and the impossible way the town
pulled local hills close, to coat
in dandelions. and cultivate
all under an ambitious midwestern sun.
rolling through the stop sign, hand on mine
you told me if you’re moving at all
you should keep it in second gear.
and we had so far to go, but in the light that
broke through westbound clouds,
we became less so.
contented to spread toes out in earth we
dug into Minnesota, the middle coast:
a land we could like to get to know.
and you:
looking down at the salt, the sand, the scars of
the grand american plantation:
the last coast.
knowing that by the next coast, we
you and me.
we'd be through.
saying, ‘how could anybody die?’
saying,
‘how could anybody tell you anything true?’
undercut by the honest waves of the little lake,
the hum that drummed in my gas tank.
trying, for once, at a little piece of truth:
when I leave this place I leave
a part of me behind.
and that part of me
will be you.
saying there’s only so much sweetness in the soil,
only so long after the thaw,
and grief is rich and dark and made for sowing:
must be, for maintaining verdant local hills, must be
for to keep corn sweet. must be for to put
grief
on the table. must be for to
keep with us.
for to keep a little bit to eat.
saying, we bleed but together we make a hole
to bury both our bodies in.
saying there’s a west out west but too late it’s
already hemmed us in.
saying now I am only a fragile assimilation of this weak
and fractured purpose that drives me, and you are
beautiful enough I would lie to let you love me.
even I would scorch this soil if only things wouldn’t grow I would
saying Blue Earth is still in the trucker's atlas is
only an excuse for sunshine. a point,
where freeways go.
saying,
“with earth, so green, that here they call it 'Blue'.”
saying
“I could learn to love a leopard.”
saying
“how dare you.”
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
you prepared me for this
and i can't decide whether
it's ok for me to feel as relieved
as I do when I am not crying
i've never felt so much instant pain
and relief all at once
so confusing-- my ****** lady
who walks like a trucker
piebald nightcaps
tree terrace
800+ hours
miles upon miles of cigarettes
dengue.
my heart.
my heart.
you brought me to Christ
you showed that God is love
you've left such a huge rainbow
in the earth's clay
i miss you
i want you
but I don't need you now
you know that
we know that
my heart.
you dreamt me and robbie
will one day meet
we will
and it won't be incredibly soon
--but it doesnt matter.
promise brothers
promise sister
Ngariy.
please hug Tithinfal for me
i'm glad you are with him now
im trying to go to Yap on Tuesday
for a week to see Ray and Celine
and the kids
to see Tingin
our spots the island wide
the tunnel behind peace corps
i inadequatley described to you
but that you can now see
and feel
with ****** yapese local music
blaring in the background
i'll be fine
you know I will
with heart on fire
I reach out to you tonight
all nights.
i'll find Zeyto
i'll hug him
those eyes
i'll sit in Gilin's kitchen and chainsmoke
i'll make you proud
i'll spread your word
i'll spread your message
i'll spread your love
i'll make it to Africa
and ill see you again
before we both know it
i love you.
and i'm good
ill learn to dance with a limp
rug baadagem ni odig, tinmad
gu baadagem.
forever
forever
forever
go rest
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
These kinds of stories are hard to find.
I posted up in a bar between
nowhere and a town named Ida
(probably named after some
sweetheart, that old southern name),
and in the characteristic openness
that I can only find during my travels,
I decided to say,
"hey stranger."
It was early in the evening,
he was a traveler too,
but of the trucking sort,
ashen eyes and
pale breathy skin,
we got talking amid
electric neon glow and
the pale blue light
that shown in through the rain.
His name didn't matter,
I won't tell you his name,
but the truckers know thumbers
(there are 5000 or so
across the country
at any given time),
and so he told me of a thumber.
This thumber was in the thunder,
clothes torn and eyes wide,
and with a mind that was,
at that point especially,
oblivious to the solidity
of the dry towel that was
set on the solid truck seat,
and, what a mess this boy was,
so by appearance, I presume,
it was easy to ask,
"what in the hell happened to you?"
It went like this:
the thumber turned those
wide open eyes
(I imagine he was shivering),
and told of how he was
walking, backpack and all,
and of how he smelled a storm
approaching, how when he
saw the treetops bending,
he expected the rain and
pulled a waterproof cover
over his pack just in time,
it started pouring.
This time the thumber,
he said he knew he had to
keep going,
he said he didn't like rolling
dice, no, he said it was a cheat
because if you knew enough
about throwing die the die
land the same, they land
the same enough.
So,
listen, have you ever
walked through heavy rain?
You get dizzy, but
in some deep part of your mind
in the spray, the insurmountable
lukewarmness stealing
a little with each blow,
you lose yourself,
and that's what I imagine
happened to this thumber.
At one point, the thumber
knew ground no more,
that's all he said. He said
he landed one county
over, that's all he said.
And by the jingling
of the die hanging
from the truck's rearview mirror,
one of the truckers laughed
and said ********
as the story of the thumber
came around,
what in all hell else could
you say?
And the thumber wiggled
his head and gave a queer
sneeze.
Against the neon glow
I peered at the trucker,
you can't tell an honest
man by his eyes but
you can tell it by his breath.
I shook my head and said,
"that's a kind of story that's
hard to find."
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
Out on a Georgia dirt road
Fully loaded, making time
I've gone a million miles
All on someone else's dime
From Utah to Kentucky
Nevada up to Maine
I've been on super highways
I've driven on one lane
America, America
There's just so much to see
I've seen the land, please understand
You help to make me me
I'm just another trucker, mother
Driving empty, driving full
Hauling loads for everyone
From wood, to steel, to wool
Dirt roads and paved highways
They're connected to my brain
I've driven all from coast to coast
In sleet, and sun and rain
America, America
There's just so much to see
I've seen the land, please understand
You help to make me me
Home, to me is driving
I don't have a fixed abode
I get my mail in dribs and drabs
My life is on the road
Just another trucker, mother
I just wish there was more time
To see the countries treasures
All on someone else's dime
America, America
There's just so much to see
I've seen the land, please understand
You help to make me me
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
There once was an interstate trucker
Who went by the name of Tucker
He transported illegal goods
To all sectors of the woods
Cops did a raid to shut down Tucker's trade
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
This is a love poem for me and you
Because roses are red
Violets are blue
Ima put my ***** all over you
When I twerk in your face
Your kind will be a dead race
Probably because I smell so bad
Say goodbye to the nose you once had
But it's okay!
You still have eyes.
Together we'll see
The beautiful skies. :3
Oh look!
That cloud looks like a *****
When you see the ***** touch my weenis
I heard you like extra skin
I have some in my bin
If you want it
Your **** will get bit
There's a price to pay
And your **** will say
"Ow."
And I will be like "POW"
All because I love you
Like your eyes
Which are blue.
Like your lips
Which are red.
Like red, is the upper half of the lower left side of the bottom half of my heart,
Which is where you will always be.... Dude
I may not love you as much a food
I love pizza rolls more than you
And maybe my ex boyfriend too
But you come in third
Because sometimes you smell like a ****
You look like a piece of soggy bread
And you have a pin head
But that's okay
Because we've been dating for a day
Never the less
I'm no actress.
I can't hide my love
And it gives me stress.
Would you please accept me?
If we can't be...
THEN ***** YOU MOTHER TRUCKER I DONT NEED YOU ANYWAYS!
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Hauling Jack I am called
My truck rely gets stalled
I drive a powerful 18 wheeler and being a sturdy trucker
I travel from coast to coast
My story is not much to boost
I drive for “GOT YOUR STACK TRUCKING COMPANY”
I am on my CB radio talking to Trucker Flipping Sal
We actually grew up together and he is my pal
I am cruising at 75
But when I am living, it is about staying alive
I got my eyes for highway Smoky
At times he will give me a wave
Then there’s other times I get a warning in behave
My job is pretty cut and dry
Driving helps pass the time away
I have seen a lot while driving these highways
I have seen Greyhound buses signal on by
There were steep hills my truck had to try
Then there were trucks with blown out tires and sometimes their brakes could fail
Being a trucker has no fancy tail
This trucker only wants to share the trail
It’s just a job and how a trucker prevails
Hauling Jack is a man who hauls a pack
Once to the final destination, it’s a matter to unpack then reload
Hauling Jack in highway knows, and it was illustrated in being the show.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
If you can't see me
inside you're rear view mirror,
then I can't see you.
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard... i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those pedophile(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.
it's sheryl crow
for fuck's sake...
it's not
katty perry...
that debut:
was... pristine..
seminal...
sure... my feet stink...
what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...
a change?
***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...
it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...
no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?
n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
hand in my pocket...
right through you...
so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!
no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...
Disney princesses my ***
head over feet...
now... that's a song.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Molasses is
The most red
The most gold
The most vibrant
Least cold
Fall of my life
And it’s a new ****
Maybe he wears a trucker hat
Or maybe he wears bibs
Maybe he’ll be some dark horse
New candidate
I don’t know yet
He could be one of these
Over mountain men
Filtering through the woods
Appearing in the hills
Ghosts of Hatfields past
Fur on their faces
Instead of skin
Strong and sturdy
Growing up from the ground
Like the cane we’re cutting
Down
And it ain’t about money
Out here in God’s country
We’re just willing and
Able
Enjoying the rich soil
And machetes
Carving calluses
While the sugar’s pressing
Staining, straining
Green and sweet
Skimming, boiling, browning
Finally draining
Into glistening mason jars
The day is going dark
Sail away ladies
Sail away
And say darling say
Playing banjo
In a moonshine-induced
Hallucination
Till all the bread is gone
The molasses gets carted off
And now it’s full dark
The spooks come out
All the wicked witches
Spitting hairballs
At their victims
That thing making noise
Moving in the bushes
Might be Matt Kinneman
Tells me I’m a good woman
I’m a human wall
And my pigtails make good handholds
When someone needs to reach his knife
The mountains grow
Apart at night
And the hollers pull us in
Molasses tastes like being
Home again
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
I am a physician.Last fall, I had a very interesting
conversation with a patient who is a trucker. I asked her if she knew
anything about deep underground military bases, and then I played ignorant
to see what she would say.
Without further prompting, she informed me she is an independent contractor
trucker, driving 18-wheeler rigs cross-country. She said the bases are real
and are located all over the country, "especially under the mountains out
West". She said one of her main contracts over the last few years has been
with DHS.
She said there are underground roads running all over the United States,
connecting the underground facilities.
She said she has personally delivered many truckloads of supplies to the
underground facilities. For each DHS shipment/delivery, there was a stack
of non-disclosure forms about (by her description) six inches thick she had
to sign.
DHS would attach a tracking device to her truck for each of these shipments
and monitor her truck's every move. She would be told where to go to accept
delivery for each shipment. In each case, she would be escorted by guards
"with machine guns" away from her truck, so she could not see what was
being loaded into her rig. The truck would then be locked by a large lock
with a ring 'as big around as your finger", which had to be torch-cut off
at the time of delivery.
When she would make deliveries, often within underground facilities, she
would again be escorted away from the truck by armed guards, the lock would
be cut off, and the goods would be unloaded.
She said the only shipped goods she ever saw in these DHS shipments were
stackable black plastic things that looked like coffins.
She told be the gov't is getting ready for a collapse, which she told be
she expected might happen as early as late 2014.
She also told me she thinks the gov't has just about everything is needs
stored underground, because the number of DHS shipments has been
declining.
I asked her if she would be willing to have lunch with me and tell me more.
She replied, "yes", but afterwards when I contacted her, she had changed
her mind and would not talk further about it with me.
Another pt of mine, whom I saw within about a week of this lady, is a local
trucker, but he told me that he has lots of friends who are truckers, and
through them, he said he had learned that there are "thousands of miles of
underground roads" running across the country, connecting underground gov't
facilities.
He had just recently, in fact, heard among his trucker friends of a
shipment of frozen meat being shipped to one such underground facility,
totaling four million pounds of meat.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
im a lonesome trucker down and feeling blue
my baby she has left me for somebody new
driving down the road with teardrops in my eyes
with my trucking blues and a heart thats full of sighs
radio is playing the songs we listened to
my sunshine dissapeared from the skies of blue
thinking of the things that we used to do
even in my truck i cant drive away from you
ive got the trucking blues since i dont have you
im a lonesome man dont know what to do
with my broken heart i try to carry on
got the trucking blues now my love has gone
when i hear a love song on the radio
my eyes begin to water then the teardrops flow
i still love you so theres nothing i can do
here inside my heart theres still a flame for you
ive got the trucking blues since i dont have you
im a lonesome man dont know what to do
with my broken heart i try to carry on
got the trucking blues now my love has gone
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
Traveling, just rambling along on this lonely old road
All my life, on this journey of mine; I've been carryin' a heavy load
Still contemplating on my last trip, my mind's already full
People can say, this life got my ***** to the wall
Can't stop livin' this life, already miss my *****
My baby waiting at home, can't sleep on the wheel, or I'll end up in the ditch
Hittin' seventy five, hopped on speed
Singin' along with the radio, wishin' I had some more creed
To look forward to a better life,but nothing can beat this
Me and my rig, can you dig this
Highway is a playground, this truck is my toy
Back home, there who waits for me is my little boy
Trucker hats, cop sunglasses, even a mullet can make it a full redneck gear
Can't recall the last time I took some time off, must have been like 10 years
Screaming past rural towns, honking at hot chicks in fast cars
Every night, I'm a stranger at a run down bar
Just lookin' at the pictures in my wallet
To give up all this, hell no, I rather eat a bullet
My baby, my dog, and my little boy's waitin' for me
Freedom is my highway, this rig is my guiding light for me
HELL YEA!!
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
I dont know if its just these pillows,
but my body doesnt want to get up.
But sweetie when you leave me,
and my side feels vacant,
I dont want too, becomes a common phrase.
I am not sure if thats good or bad.
That I want to always be with you.
I'm in love, what can I say?
and being in love means never going away.
Honey, I dont mean to tie you down,
But next time you leave,
whisp me away with you?
I want to adventure too.
I dont like sitting at home, and waiting for you to come back.
Take me next time, or else dont go.
We've spent to much time apart,
and though I want you to go and explore,
never truly depart from me.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC