We're televisions whose mouths and words don't line up like the should.
You're hard concrete while I'm stuck on the blood staining it and
where it came from. Coffee cups collect at the side of my bed.
Red pins pushed through the places I've been. I tie them together
with a string. The pattern just tells me, "GO TO SLEEP."
I'm getting used to my skin, but it doesn't fit right.
And I feel Carolina in my blood.
Run, brother, run.
I was 25 when my Dad died.
My arms fell weak, my heart grew tired,
and every girl I tried to kiss
gave that look you did, so I choose to miss.
Find the greatest books and flip to the end.
In those last lines, you'll find my friends.
Like flies on tape, I keep them close.
We may look dead, but move our toes.
Run, Father, run.
I keep your things in my garage.
I won't drive away.