Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Flying down the freeway, the sun roof open and the wind in my hair
driving as fast as I have to, to look like I don't care

but I do
my own worst enemy
wound seeping

It ain't that bad. . . buck up
They'll come around. . . someday. . . . maybe

You can lead a pig to mud
I'm just glad I can sleep

Sun shines down on a palm tree in need of a shave
glad that the heat broke and cooler winds prevail

Screaming guitar licks, like choaking a cat
grown ups yelling at kids
I'm getting fat

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