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Weston Bookhouse
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Under the Hill
Had it planned right down to a T
Labor until I have
Stacked up the means to lap the globe
And so on
Now I work late on Saturdays
And that's what makes me sad today
I miss the music we did play
Nothing needing sense those days
My ghosts just grew so bored
Now they're back for more
Along with Sequoias
I miss the fog cooking off
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At around 11, there being no end in
The means to which we took the bus up just
The promise of descending
And every time I'd go outside in that town
I'd get so fucking high
I'm jealous of Cayugas Palm trees
For still bending in the sky
It makes me howl
Oh.
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