I see the tracers it leaves in the sky. A racing stripe canopy for your eye. I see it dying fast right through the floor. An aftershock of filth and gore.
(written by Shaye Smith and Ken Harrell). . Mom brought us lemonade. On a Coca-Cola tray. Ice rattling in plastic glasses. We'd see who drink the fastest.
It's hard to believe. That one night brought me here. If I'd never said that word. I'd have never wasted all these years. My friends say, think of all that I'd missed.