dead man's curve, jack-knifed semi full of cocaine
and the boys in blue are fired up to penetrate
like a hound dog on prom night.
We're all hurting, hurtling towards heartbreak.
Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, paper beats rock,
.45 puts it right after third period.
No more pencils, no more books,
Jackson Pollack on the walls of the library.
We're all bleeding, fleeing the scene.
Rainy night alone with nobody worth giving a shit about,
all dressed up with nowhere to go
but a funeral
or a lynching
or a circle jerk
everywhere is violent and ugly but anywhere is better than here.
We're all so cliche, ricochet just to brag that you went the wrong way.
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