We were sitting on a bus full of children.
I was drawing pictures of rocket ships.
I was climbing the powerlines outside your window.
There was a radio playing in the background.
Your father was a fat Southerner with blue overalls and a moustache.
Your mother was a black Georgia soul singer with friends who loved to cook.
I woke up in your house, your mother was whispering to me.
I could just make out your face through the crack in the doorway.
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6 comments:
"I was climbing the powerlines outside your window."
Oh man, I like.
who are you?
my perception of god?
yeah, that sounds about right.
I wanted to hold the radio above my head, but she lived on the second floor. Have you ever tried climbing powerlines with a radio? What a pisser.
You, my dear, are God.
And I am the pain you feel.
"I'm outside of your
window, with my radio."
Hawthorne Heights, come
one. Now who's emo, darling. ;]
I don't need your friends,
I've got my own . . .
*breaks out shotgun*
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