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Free Throw
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What Day Is It, October?
My lifestyle is a form of suicide
But then again everyone's is
Mine just may be faster than others
The drinking, smoking, hearing from my mother
That I should take much better care of myself
I spend my life staring at my bedroom walls
The TVs on but I don't care
In my mind it really hasn't been that long
But then reality sets in and It's been years.
All alone in my room
Without anything to do
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Except I'm thinking of you
And the times that we spent
Glued at the lips, always attached at the hip
Your special brand of crazy
And the sex after fights
I know that those days are gone
I think about it most nights
Those days are gone.
I think about you most nights.
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