the mexicans were citizens who drank tequila in the gardens
they blamed all the abuse and vandalism on the drunk irish men(s)
and the english man stood in new york and said:
"what a jerk I am,
I'm excused from my hometown and I'm feeling so
down
down
down
down"
but banish, second chance can't sing change, in memory,
individual, in brackets they'd be bandages
nothing a few cross stitches can't fix, and patterned blankets in case of emergencies, if the people bring the messages, if wires aren't crossed and country is posessed
we're all posessed about the living
we couldn't care less about the people in-between
in-between life and death
there must be someone you forget
because your mind is programmed to 'the forgot'
and the country stays in its place while you lose your plot
you stab the land and shoot target: flower pots
another day,
the haze,
the states,
you ate the atmosphere and when sober it's crystal clear,
but no-ber you're down dear,
you're downtown but the town you're not sure of
heaven knows this aint on purpose
accents and trafficas are all-(a)round accidents
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