This Is What Going Nowhere Reads Like
Sing a sexy song about terrorism, sing me six pence worth of violence in the night.
We’re driving out in the night, we’re driving out after dark, light turned all down low.
Turned down low like rejecting your lover’s lovers.
Turned down low like somebody you don’t want to see anymore.
We’re telling lies like we’re living lives; making mythologies mighty against the mundane sufferings of other people’s existences.
I thought it was them or us, but it turned out that there’s some still some Thems amongst the Us’s as well. Just because you’re not normal doesn’t mean your exactly like me; I have trouble seeing that, when I’m looking for things in common - abstract reasoning on rorschach friendships.
You see what you want to see. I want to see you, but I don’t want to see you as you are, I want to see you as you were, in my mind, when I was thinking about you and me and us against them and, you know, guns and glory and hard-living, hard-loving, and a handful of dirt and passion in the eyes of any authority figures.
Ah, but what did I come dressed as? I was a fake character the whole time you knew me, and now things are otherwise again.
I’m outside again.