The way that you left me is alright, it’s alright. If I argue the point then we yell and we fight, and I won’t be home for the rest of the night. You might hate my words, but you know that I’m right.
It shakes every fucking bone trying to do the right thing on my own, so I let the ink tell you how I come to grips with all of this.
In ‘83 a lamb was led
for many years until its head
began to swell, it did explode
with reasons to think on, to think on its own.
I’m 26. All the people I graduated with all have kids, all have wives, all have people who care if they come home at night.
Jesus Christ, did I fuck up?
So let’s wade through all this shit, to make something of this together.