ocd

it's two a.m again.
thoughts are like snowdrifts
and my skidoo is stuck, again
people, places

I'm six , I'm watching my dad hit my mom
I'm sixteen, I'm dropping some acid
I'm twenty eight, my son is being born
I'm thirty three. i'm cheating on my wife
I'm thirty eight, i've hit rock bottom

it's summer
1985
i'm playing midfield
i make a through ball
I kiss the girl, i score on a corner
she's leaving, her coat is gone
i'm falling , so this is what they mean tumbling
like a car crash,

when a second seems like an hour
the ocd is in charge,
it's 2 am again

the record is stuck, the record is stuck, the record is stuck

why i passed on your funeral

I think it's kinda of funny
that I've always loved the rain
must have been a survival strategy
to get through the storms

thunder and lighting
in the kitchen
up and down the stairs
into the living room

never blamed you
but now I know
it took a long time to get to this point
some women aren't victims

it's why I passed on your funeral
I gave up on you when I was twelve
it's the one lesson I'll pass on to my sons
some women aren't victims

even if they pretend to be

8151

from the smashing of plates
and through the roar of the argument
it's words full of anger
the slamming of doors
brings the light
that I float with
along snow covered streets
and flickering street lights
under a the dark blue sky
my thoughts turn to
of better days
with nothing but open highway
ahead of me