Thursday, April 18, 2013

wild horses

Backpacks full of weapons
maybe explosives
video games and insane parents
left a generation tired before they were old
strip malls and middle names are in the news again
Gits harder every day
Making new fuel discoveries
and unprecedented flooding
Sports cars and hope for the lottery
drive our ambitions
and loss of youth
It is the truth we are afraid of
It is the math we can't deny
We know the way
All those asphalt cities tell a story
We spend all of our money
The dirt is dry
The wings are spread
for all the stories you could tell
I wish you well, my friend
It is all style and no difference
Like a scarecrow in the yard, scaring everyone
not only the birds

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