she has love lost for a series of boys whose names start with Jay.
with an affinity for a girl who starves herself plain.
it tears at the core of me that i'm not where i want to be
i say that i need the snow and the seasons
but they've only really been a hole in my heart.
and an excuse to sacrifice my art.

lime trees and a slight breeze, skate parks and the open sea.
it's like this town has been specially built to let me breathe.
breathe in smoke breathe in salt breathe in life.
it starts tonight.

and boy this has got to be the life,
skipping stones with eyes closed
just wondering why
you live across a gap

Forgiveness lives in a hole in your soul.
Take it easy, let it roll.
I built a castle that was torn down.
I spoke words that he worked around.
Took a train to nowhere just to forget,
But he showed up with fists at my new doorstep.

There was a time I was laying, palms, face
down on the ground.
Afraid, trembling, at the slightest sound.
How heavy was the world, when heavy was the girl.
How small she became as it started to rain.
The battle never ends, and maybe I should feel lost.
But I showed up with fists, fighting at all costs.

Now we live in the thick of it, unprepared for what's next.
Though that end of the tunnel is nowhere in sight,
I can look up at the sun as it peaks through his cracks and still see light.

And you'll find buried within me
The strength to leave this city.
I've grown too large still
I can't see myself at all.
Cigarette burns and coffee stains
remind me of better days.

So six seven eight years will turn to ten.
What then?
I'll have seen nothing but concrete
And a whole lot of loss.
Though I loved the anonimity
I know what it has cost me.

Time to get out, get to know me.
Outside of this box I call a home.

black boots in the white

Lights up over Burlington, I light up and the air is so thin, I take a breath I, lose control and, it’s always Church Street in the dead of winter, buried in the snow with a hint of, a little problem, a little solvent, black boots in the white, you think we’ll miss it?

Here we are whiskey breath on your doorstep, peeling off layers of regret, slipping on ice, saying these words so trite. I know I'll miss it, I think I've lost it, another February in your cellar and another year lost to the high. Another year lost to the high.