Friday, February 25, 2011

Heres to the middle-of-the-stair-climbing monkeys, the concrete hardened adrenaline junkies,
Third floor men with minds like boys and teeth like daggers and tongues like swords,
Who realize that friends don't make secrets nor do secrets make friends but friends making out makes us want to make you get out,
Out in the street where we roam like demons,
Heads hot and ears steaming,
Streaming down garages and streets like we don't know better but we do know better and don't think for a minute that you're no better than the people we pass whizzing by on boards and blades and polyurethane wheels,
We see life and a bit do we steal more and more with each night with every close call oh shit moment of fright we are alive and alive we are glorious

No comments:

Post a Comment