I guess I always look like I’m going nowhere.
Hands always somewhere else, my phone the steering wheel.
People always ask, “where am I supposed to put my hands?”
Like your hands determine where you’re going
So light it up.
Celebrate death while
come home before
Celebrate happiness before
she washes her hands of you.
forever to feel. We don’t have any room left
in storage, the garage, the desk drawer
And if you follow emotions like
road maps, well you’ll always go
a different way.