living in a shotgun shack...
same as it ever was
same as it ever was...
they are hard as ever, walking around town with fragile eyes. watery and dark. i'm busy hiding in philadelphia, they're busy hiding from themselves...
and i saw puppy dogs and cold hard marble with the sheerness of fine thin fabric, limbs taken over by gravity and buried underfoot. i tasted ever best pizza, there is no better end of story. i hustled and dodged, i ran looking for the mountain indian woman, her resting profile floods the memories back...
of long high school bus rides, to the world of cliques and art, of lunch periods in the library, of wearing leather ties and mens shirts...
i saw the eyes of a perpetrator. long long ago. i ran past and changed my mind. "you've got a lot of bad karma mister to work off, work off..." long time coming. i am not 11. i am grownup. i am taller and wider than you're little black soul. it's always good to take care of loose ends.
what else to say?
what else to do?
but say farewell
and hope i've soaked
every inch of your magic
for later on.