there go those days

washed away just like we wish they'd be.

just like we feared they'd be.

 

washed away just like we prayed

washed away with ignorant youth and sick greed.

 

"were at the crest!" we'd shout in the forest, on drugs.

"this is the gut of truth!" we'd spit with yellow teeth and bellies full of our parents booze.

 

"oh wisdom! teachers of the past!" we would praise and pray.

 

what did we know of the past.

 

what did we know of filth.

 

"this is where I belong!" i'd shout back to the mountain.

 

"this is what they meant by rough!" brother would shout. brother would scream.

 

but what did we know of rough.

 

what do we know now.

 

then-

 

a broken heart.

a wandering mind.

 

a pot full of love and beans.

two men shouting at the sky.

two boys learning what it meant to hurt.

 

pine needles and honesty.

one blue sky and six white clouds.

 

two complete skeletons

shinning in the sun,

covered in flies,

wrapped in youth,

and new.

 

but what did we know of rough.

 

then-

 

 

a hollywood hive,

sick with prostitues.

 

a soft cock sad about tomorrow,

sad about today.

 

text book satisfied,

but san fernando valley bent and beaten.

 

spikes and chills on a porcelain pot,

"where's the ground? "

or "wheres my ground?"

 

"what's our cash worth?"

two men shouting at a whore.

"how long till the next cunt shows?"

two boys learning what it means to be robbed.

 

and what time was work anyway?

 

 

then-

 

in between-

 

fuck these rouge whores

forget these six clouds.

 

pine needles are the only honesty we've known.

 

piracy is the only truth we've known.

 

the hive is the only rough we've known.

 

and lonely is all we've been waiting for.