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
deeply
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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