Motorcycles

Don’t ride the line. The closer a motorcycle hugs the dividing line….the dumber they are. You don’t belong on the road at all. Get the the fuck out of the Black Hills. Your poor family gets asked how you died….”two-wheels made them feel immortal and king shit of who-cares-about anybody but me.” Your ignorance or confidence, hard to tell which, at your ability to not cross over the line doesn’t comfort anyone, you piece of shit. Don’t come to Sturgis. Don’t come to South Dakota, to exercise your death-wish-desires. Fuck you and your mom and the dumb faberge egg you rode in on.

Weapons

Every week, from Norris Peak Road, I can hear somebody doing target practice. You’re doing it wrong. If I’m at a house where people live, amongst other houses, and I can hear you, go use one of those bullets on yourself. Oh no, did I hurt your ego because you love shooting guns? Then put the tip of your nose in the barrel of a gun, point slightly up and pull the trigger till it goes, “click.” Your fear is embarrassing. Your life is/was a waste. We all die eventually, you idiot. Practicing shooting a gun every week tells me you’re not very good at it in the first place and you flex for reasons you don’t even understand. Get a life, don’t get good at ending one.

Pain

Clean the house in my underwear

Life is a gift

Everything after costs a hell of a lot

Double-edged sword don’t give a fuck about which way the power happens to blow

Tip of it has truth

Almost like it’s pointing

These days…when I touch the guitar

It’s for my soul and nothing else

We’ll keep you in mind

Oh blow it out your ass

A soulless cabin would be lost

See it now, the amazing grace

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