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)