i'm going off again, and for no good reason year by year i've achieved some type of feeling that suggests i've traveled miles that lead to nowhere fast
i've seen the lot of them from queens to journeymen bigots and confidantes i've spoken to and laughed with destructive catalysts professionals and loyalists punk rock pop nihilists have grown up amongst suburban architects
who can say it was all deceiving or that anybody was mislead? i'm not the one to be judging i may not even be who i think i am
the asphalt is my burning bed has left me invalid put me to sleep at night in the arms of some strange no man's land i'll be back northbound and west i need the fucking rest but in the meantime these broken roads and homes will ring in my head