good times
i sure hope that i haven't bruised you
but i selfishly hope i've left my mark
you're beautiful when you cry
i'm never gonna know you now but I'm gonna love you anyhow
i want to be the clay in your hands
my ego's like my stomach - it keeps shitting what I feed it
it seems those fifteen pounds I've lost since you left with the part of me that you loved most and knew best
my home is where ever my friends are
you