tinsel sleeves, bruises on your
arms (or is that makeup?)
and vodka, redemption is a second away
from all the twisted heaps we
become, i'm the one on the bike now
riding straight towards some windshield
and i know just what it's like
to want to prove a single point
i could cut off all communication
like some twenty-first century shutdown
pull the covers over all of the headlights
pretend i'm driving at night
but i'm not, and i want out
just so long as it's me that does it
i guess i'm doing it right.
No comments:
Post a Comment