Forgiveness is a hell of a drug
Addison Kay
Forgiveness is a hell of a drug
I’m too thin so the river runs icy. You pulled me out and set me
on the rock to dry. Then kept swimming. I was astonished, for the first time you
knew I needed something different. To be warm. I’ve been escaping every second
of my whole life. Have you heard this before? At the five-year I’m drinking a shit
beer and my friends and I are determined to be fake drunk enough to be real. I’m
still frozen so you catch my hand in the parking lot because I’m breaking down and
I tell you not to touch me. You’ve got a job in the city and I’ve got a job in the city.
That used to be enough, but Boston is a dreary town where people don’t even know
their neighbors.
I’m too thin so the river runs icy. You pulled me out and set me
on the rock to dry. Then kept swimming. I was astonished, for the first time you
knew I needed something different. To be warm. I’ve been escaping every second
of my whole life. Have you heard this before? At the five-year I’m drinking a shit
beer and my friends and I are determined to be fake drunk enough to be real. I’m
still frozen so you catch my hand in the parking lot because I’m breaking down and
I tell you not to touch me. You’ve got a job in the city and I’ve got a job in the city.
That used to be enough, but Boston is a dreary town where people don’t even know
their neighbors.