March 3rd. -04

Song title: "Leavin' To-die"

I want to go to California,
Get tatoos, drink, and waste my days away,
Waiting for the next show,
And no thoughts of yesterday.
No....no....no thoughts of yesterday.  

We're bored never, we'll find our way, always...skatin or what
We're bored never, we'll find our way, alway...slammin the pit, 

Breakin strings and blowin amps, we'll never think of dying.  
But when we do, just know that we always liked you,
Just never understood one another,
Enough......to give a shit.

That's where I'll be, on PCH with tats and bats, living to die.
That's where I'll be, on PCH with tats and bats, living to die.

No....no....no thoughts of yesterday.

We're bored never, we'll find our way, always...slammin the pit
We're bored never, we'll find our way, alway... skatin or what

Breakin strings and blowin amps, we'll never think of dying
No...no...no....never think of dying
...Never think of dying
With tats and bats, just living to die,
Never think of...livin to die.



March 22nd, 2004

Untitled:

And I'll thank my lucky stars that I found my shooting star,
And I'll always remember the way she sat on the moon,
Dangling her feet in the sky,
With that look in her eye,
Like "I want this to last forever."
And I'll never forget, never forget how it felt,
And I'll never forget how she lit up the sky,
And I'll pray to my lucky stars that she knows,
That I love that look in her eye,
The goddess of my shooting star.



MARCH 27

i miss my shooting star...its been so long since we've spent the night together, gazing at the sky and thinking of how great it would be if we could kiss.  i miss my love in a way only a cactus misses the sun: i can go on, but only for so long.



29 March 2004

Title: "Reticent"

The west-bound signs are calling again,
And this time I won't go on alone.
The right-hang seat had been cold too long,
The stick divided me from no one.

A mix tape for two with coffee for
One, helping the stretch seem not as far.
White strips and yellow bars, barb fence
And shooting stars on the way west.

And once again that smile leaves my lips
Long before the sonorous tide reaches our ears.
The right-hand seat growing colder every telephone
Pole.  The stick divides me from no one again,
And a slight sense that this is all I'll ever have
Creeps across my windsheild.