what I love about this country is the jazz and the blues and

all of my weary and all of my woe is made into perfect sense a common thread in my favorite son… familiar tones of sadness the beauty of malaise

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

he burns through the keys in hopes to unlock himself with freedom of song

he looks off into the distance as if god exists waiting beyond the winds with some kind of answer he looks on dating sites

at odds with the sky I have rid myself of every feather and with my beak i have chewed off… of my wings if i am to see my dreams die

right at that age where she is lea… like a cynical fox taking guarded… in the forest still looks for someone she doesn’… but knows it is because she believ…

into another corner bar they go climbing stairs covered in clumps… praying they don’t slip carrying s… hundreds of pounds of amplificatio… they set up in the corner

I keep coming back just when ya think “there is no

i used to go to Gramma’s every Sunday evening we would order pizza watch whatever shows we could agree on

that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers

it burned slow as i sat in front of a mirror listening to overplayed psychedeli… music from the 60's it was the first time i ever smoke…

peering into your eyes i am trying to understand you hoping to know you a little better with each glance when the world is mad

dying to stay in tune they rattle eagerly to play one last song