My Seventh-Grade Bus Driver Yells At Dead Trees
As I look up at the sky as she blocks my view of this
As I get smacked down and I fall head first on the floor of your shrine
I don't know which way to get up again
I will follow her, I will follow her
Stretched out on this bed of nails
Hanging by this worn out noose tightening the grip around your neck
The bloodstains on my hands are all I have left
Never had dreams of my mown
Sex has stenched all I know as I get smacked down
And I fall head first on the floor of your shrine
I just don't know which way to get up again
Torn away from all that is real
Torn away from what I feel,
All alone hiding from others.
