Signs point to slow
but there's grit on the windshield
I can't see
I can't fuckin' drive either.
So it's all relative, yeah?
Waits growls, then Cave lows...
I wake up in the backseat.
What's wrong?
What's wrong?
(it's too quiet, but so damn loud.)
Why the fuck am I here?
Just go back to sleep.
It ain't my car.
Nothing is mine anymore.
(October 8th)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
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