gasoline

i had a group i ran around with when i was just diving into the depths of what it was. what our bones were made of. four broken strings trying to symphonize the music of our minds. floating around a place where we couldn’t remember our names, didn’t need them no more anyways. kids that didn't fear the tolling of that bell we were in it for what it really was. find us making leave out the ubiquitous backdoor swinging off them hinges that were rusted through - we broke it down if we couldn’t see the path that lie in front of us, had feet that couldn't ever stay. knew we needed to feel the aching of our thoughts in our limbs and the grit of ash on our teeth, taste the cursèd fruit on those lips saying “itll be okay baby if you just keep driving.” couldn’t stop - wouldn’t stop - spent our time inbetween those two golden strips of road like we could write the story of our overgrown souls inside if we stretched ‘em far enough. listened to the night. listened to the life. listened to him make love to those keys he's lost himself in the vibrating strings of a fragile chest, and no one could ever help it when he left - all we could do was take in God's Empty Chair never knowing how it was but we felt it in our gut.
all the while knowing [truth is never truth enough].