my friends are dying and I never look as good as I want
I'm wasting my time on the insignificant
I'm so exhausted I can't think straight or much
August always hits me like a pick up truck
I remember there weren't even flowers on his grave
just gun shots in the air to mark that final day
if he were still alive what would he say?
his last words were "you'll make it through ok"
out onto that crazy lost august night I was thrown
from my mothers screams into the world's stumbling arms
my father laughing with his drink and swearing at the sun
for not being there to shine on his final good thought
I get so tied up in my dreams I often forget to live
and then, I do, but all in one great, wild and free explosion
and people watching think I burn the brightest
but they don't see me most of the time - I'm collecting ashes
what is a way to sum up the wonder and the chaos?
that uncertainty - rat gnawing on the rope I tossed
to linger on this planet and keep me locked
into survival because the only other option is giving up