There is an overcast forecast
plagueing the top of my head
no wonder my hair is always down
It followed me in doors
Behind bars
out of town
And In my dreams
I turned the switch to my soul
and the next four years
of my weather channel seam to show
A well-dressed man with parted hair
pointing at the dreaded word
Rain
I don't even want to see the traffic report
how do I turn this thing off?

06/01/2009

Posted on 06/01/2009
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