The streets are still out there
And people still go to bars and die burning on the interstate
Dancing twisted metal all inside
and hot
Your best friend talking about work
and how the stars will somehow save him
Black sky watching still
Inside the television eats ego
Brazen and naked beneath half torn sheets
I take inventory of the fridge
My gut is a sloppy drunk unaware of
the damage,
Like me
Couches are coffins
And girlfriends are always tired
Listen man, I understand jazz
I just can't dance anymore
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