[silly girl they call the boy who calls himself a girl she's got no time for stories about ruin between double lobe piercings;; the thing is she's got her head in the clouds and her mind in the gutter && we don't dare distinguish we don't dare utter what lane is marked off where we just drive fast through built-up neighboorhoods where i built white picket fences to try and fill up the grey areas // we were just minding our own buisness screaming lyrics to ourselves in the scene after that and somewhere south of where we left that hot bar and somewhere north of my cold bed at home we pulled over and had a dissagreement // she said you were in my lane i said you were in mine i said these things just happen sometimes you know there're really only white broken lines dividing us to begin with and when the road funnels like that things just come together fast when space is tight i said your lane met mine and we just kissed, that's all but maybe i oughta chalk in some double yellow lines now, or lay out orange cones "this site is under construction" don't you know i think we have different places to go now, she and i, and maybe these things really do just happen sometimes && that's where our scratches & dents & dings come from && you can't protect a perfect paint-job skin forever she says i think these marks bring my value down i think they build you up && i know they tell where you've been // would you say the same about mine, now, because i don't have the peace of mind to determine if the stoplights in your eyes are green or red]

04/06/2004

Posted on 04/06/2004
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