three feet in the grave, digging up bones. this summer it seems we're all dead ramones. black leather, bad weather. jeans torn at the knees. no upstroke: it's not a joke. we're all adopting names that end in "ee"s. the kkk took my baby away and these days i just want to have something to do. blood is gushing, rocket's russian. when i'm down you know it's carbona not glue. song titles that begin with "i don't." and when you leave, you know i'm glad to see you go; go mental.
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hold it up, hold it up high. thinking you've got it in the bag. got your arm raised up to the sky, hoping to see our shoulders sag. but you missed it. and you kissed it goodbye. nice try, but you kissed it goodbye. standing right there to pop it in the net. looks like all that's left for you is regret. i'm not sorry. you thought we were your quarry. moving on to bigger and better things. you're left counting your many rings from yesteryear. nothing to fear but pride in self. you'll excuse me when i don't drink to your health.
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so that was fun to get some new stuff done. i don't think either is 100% yet but... both are good starts. i still have to write "The Hand that Cradles the Rock" and that should be enjoyable.
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