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I'm seventeen. Awesome.
Everybody I know lives on the topside of a big ol' rock, a place like beautiful, dirty carpet over a cement basement.
Everybody on that rock knows a couple cats who had some "O shit" sex, or maybe you were a "tried for" baby. But I doubt it.
Ya, I call those adorable, hideous, sometimes lovin, mistake makin people mom and dad.
I don't care too much for what position they did; I'm a little more interested in my current position, which is bleary eyed drunk in the kitchen.
But I haven't had a drink for three days
I'm all drunk from life and its god damn shenanigans.
I sing the song of myself, but I break rhythm far too often. and right now, the drummer's just getting’ out of the asylum, the singer has his vocal chords shot from too many cigarettes, too much vodka, and the guitarist, lonely, confused; he's thinkin’ about drugs and lovin’. he seems to need both.. the second’s more natural though.
this band just might come together… then split. then join. then have a bit of soaring, only to fail, balance into mediocrity, think about it all, try to forget, split, join, then invariably, split for good.
I could've given life facts and all that, but when it comes down to, it's all relative. I grew up here, you in chicago. who cares?
you is me, but you'll never understand. I'll never understand.
Might as well go pop in a flick, rather than hear my life story.
So I leave you with in the fog.
cheers.
and so it is's Genres: everything
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