Poetry

Everyone is doing that thing Where they try to seek meaning In a world that leaves us grasping For peaces of trees and summer leaves Dreams of being rich Murdering that bitch Crashing into that ditch Trying to get away from the cops Even though the whole thing Wasn't even your fault It was just a weird feeling And since then we've just had to keep on truckin' Occasionally Fuckin' Trying to drive away from our past Filled with late night brews Blunts full of Grass And all those other things That never seem to last