Gonna get a tattoo of a moth on my face. Gonna start wearing suspenders and ride a bike with one good tire, everywhere. Gonna listen to jangly british indie pop circa 1994 and a smidge of psych folk circa 1971. I'm only gonna talk to Asian girls with green eyes. Gonna drink Labatt 50 and get an undercut. Gonna look down on people with pets, only quote Allen Ginsberg and live in a tree.
Gonna buy a fake leather jacket and stop eating bread. Gonna walk around with an empty guitar case. I'm only gonna wear discontinued Reebok hightops from 1983. Gonna keep all my John Grisham novels wrapped up in sleeves from old socio economic text books. Gonna hum Japanese pop songs and only eat Captain Crunch cereal. Gonna throw old batteries at people and preach about the new world order.
Gonna key car doors, grow my hair out and shave my head. Gonna buy an umbrella and set it on fire, then laugh at the self image you project because it's boring. Gonna wear old beat up cowboy boots and sigh at you in a condescending manner for not getting my obscure references to psych folk circa 1971. I'm gonna buy a couch and sit on the floor. I'm gonna stand by a pond and cry into my own hands.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment