Sorry, it's personal.
Too many to name.
|Listen to Latterman.|
Hey Cheekbones and Eyes, I've been gone three weeks now.
I'm a mess.
My stomach's on strike and it's been three weeks since my last breath.
Well I don't know why I'm here. Cause I'm not in need of attention, and I'm not seventeen.
And I don't believe in that which I can't see.
Well I swear if I make it home with my mind and some skin on these bones, I'll be the first to throw away these car keys and this cell phone, so I can't leave or talk to anyone.
And this stupid wristwatch...
so that I'm unaware of the time that I've lost trying to be that which I'm not.
September 17, 1983 (30)
More to Love