Cover the scene.
New York never danced this drunk.

We are the left alones. The third side of the coin that never gets called.

Cornered outside visual stimuli, poetry is about
Fan Base...isn't it. Just like music. Isn't it?

So what's it take nowadays?
How far from the spectrum do we have to be?

Sex isn't in anymore...everyone has it.
Neither are drugs...everyone does them.
This is really what we want now...Money?

My
mother sits me down
to discuss my brother
he is...
troubled.

Sells cigarettes at school to his friends to make money.
Some 18 yr. old buys them and sells them to him.
He resells them.
Capitalism.

My little brother is a capitalist...he doesn't even smoke.

Life is cute.
Cute like getting pulled over while your late for work.

God is somewhere, but no one can find him.
Just like our parents.
Just like ourselves.

My younger brother is a drug dealer, now.
My friends are split and depressed.
This is the blanket I sleep under now.

Let the love come back.
Let the love come back.
I call the third side of the coin.
Let the love come back.

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