The sun is never coming back out
And who gives a fuck about welcoming spring

We were nine then and
the smell from the fire
was on everything we touched

You said I was your best friend
as we fought off ninjas with sticks
We left porn in the rain and giggled about the sticky pages
not coming from us

Even when you burnt down my clubhoue
and thought we were in the IRA
I never thought that you would be
the first victim

I tied you to a spinning wheel of wool
with underwear on of course
Lets be adult here

They said it could not be done
But I watched to make certain
And sure enough you slowly
Itched yourself to death

04/17/2007

Posted on 04/18/2007
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