words and the things


back off, unsung hero
take this beaten ego to your grave
no one likes a winner
when you’re fighting for dust instead of a name

run down for a night cap
run fast far out of this cold, cold town
of a million shrilling voices
bellowing fire at the whore on the bound

and dust will always scold us
about the good times and the bad
boiling in the midnight sun
as greedy vultures guide us back