I still think about him sitting there
Amongst twinkling stars of broken glass
Cigarette burns on his wrist and maple wood guitar in his hands
His warped songs enrapturing my soul in the backseat of a jalopy
When we left fresh tracks in the mud in the middle of the night
Teeming with steam, sweat and wild eyes
Always wanting this to last forever and a minute more
You just really had to be there

03/28/2006

Posted on 03/29/2006
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