he sits at his typewriter getting drunk off old root beer and writes poems about old men getting drunk on root beer and writing poems.
“It isn’t” she protested. “It’s balancing a paper insert!”
You’ve been chasing that foolish dream to hell and back.
Face to face, son, you know the truth
while you dream of rock and roll
we are fighting
and we are destroying ourselves
in spirit and in mind, let it be
Thank you so very much.
and some of you will never be able
You can’t see it, so you don’t know what I’m talking about, but one day you will..
to be close to me. To give me the love she knew someday I’d need.
Oh, Lord.. please
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