between the stacks in the library
not like anyone stopped to see
we came they went, our bodies spent
among the dust and the microfiche

dark winters wear you down
up again to see the dawn
in your worn sweatshirt
and your mothers old skirt
its enough to turn my studies down

now that you feel, you say its not real

i never thought i [bad word] of age
let alone on a moldy page
you put your back to the spines
and you said it was fine if theres nothing really left to say

youre taking toffee with your vicodin
something sweet to forget about him

if you go your own way i will go my own way
and well never speak of it again

dont check me out