If you woke up and I was gone, would you break a sweat or just move on? A thousand miles from anything that makes an ounce of sense. All poets dine on the nightly romance of stars and cigarettes and we're trying to be something we are not trying to be. So, write this down and store it away. Someday a dose of memory will wake you up to what you had when we drove for days. If someone jumps in front of you do you push them down or let them through? Don't get me started on this talk of nights where we'll shed our difference and crash into each other's sense of knowing that we'll never make the right decision. I'm not like my father. I won't let this push me around. I'm not like my mother. I won't just cram it all down inside. So, lock me up and store me away. Someday a dose of memory will wake you up to what you had and we'll drive for days. You say, "it's alright," but you've got to show me, you've got to show me. Wet eyes. Fake smile. You have to tell me, you have to tell me. The make-up sex life. Well, you had to tell me, you had to tell me. One more night of smoky sorrows, we need to clear the air. And we'll drive for days

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