• you live in. you give in. you slept in and noone asked any questions. you walk down the street holding hands with mr. marlboro. mother told you so. say we'll never get to know, when all the little book stores close, and the smells of new books makes you smile, at least, the new ones, to you. and for a while, your poor fashion sense of style, comic book eyes like sharp shooters lies. soon we say our goodbyes hooked to telephone lines and exit routes are all past due, orientations are all passed up, and fucked up. your fascinations with the hiptrade dressing up like its some big charade. the translater bottom line was a big mis envador sim is always on your cieling, your room has feeling, but do you? and bottom lining, deep ends with the shallow ends, you didnt see the color change to the drop off when your time ends. and yourlookingsomuchfinerthanyoudidwheniwaswithyou. so i send him different songs to make a point. but whats the point. and the point is things are different. and our age is finally growing into our skin. from blue to grey, shoplifter to box lifter, sand critter to sand shifter. and since when did my glasses stop working?

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