Our Rusted Crowns
This is to all my friends that have bummed me cigarettes.
Our lives are boring but we take vacations every night.
We will keep traveling until we have no where left.
Even a journey in the earth will seem alright.
I’ve seen the stars and been to planets.
I’ve floated in the ocean and held my breath till I damn near drown.
The winters are cold back home for us bandits.
In our filth we seem to still wear these rusted crowns.
We hate where we live so we never come back.
We hate who we are so we smoke until those feelings start to lack.
When my journeys start to grow routine and I start to bore,
I will stumble up these snow covered stairs to my house without the number on the door.