i never thought much of it
i now confess
you wore a dress
the eyes of quiet voices
they wore it with you
or stood before you
feeling the rage
feeling the sprain
the scrapes, the fangs
blue to the red
the horrible sound
nobody around
blooded my knuckles
knees to the ground
flesh for a pound
All these back alleys
they tell their tales
they toast you in songs.
