his grin covered in melted chocola… his hands covered in blood and no one to stop him thieves are not running scared they are running the show

with the lamplight at my back it feels like someone else is ther… my ears are full of wax and ghosts everything i hear is haunted headphones plugged into a headston…

i am my own ghost i am haunted

illuminated with the yellowish-ora… parked alone now waiting to be driven away by the last man at the office dedicated to his job

i don’t ever want to rest in peace and i certainly don’t want any of… resting in peace some of us grew up listening to pu… and speed metal

you took leave of Egypt for southwest Tennessee the African sun left for the warmth of Sun Record… i commend the move you made

the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here

for all the good of the day she sought the places where youths did play a few kind words to say a light to make her darkness grey

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

it was a particularly long day walking around in the Austin heat with too much on my mind i’d avoided the drink though it seemed to call for me fr…

he burns through the keys in hopes to unlock himself with freedom of song