The year was 1997 and everyone was dead.
Welcome to the future kids,
Come on,
Stay awhile,
Everyone driving Buicks through the desert!
Welcome to the madhouse,
Nobody gets out alive,
The world is an oyster,
Flying through a cloud,
Distant memories, stacked,
Like cement blocks on our graves,
I love you Rio,
Bravo,
Cheap sheets on a broken bed,
Mama can you hear me crying in the storm?

The man was a great man,
So the pastor says as he performs the last rite,
He’ll be missed,
Dissed?
He’ll be something.
A writer?
Nah, too fat,
Writers have to be skinny,
Hungry,
Haven’t ate in days,
Weeks?
They should be high,
Write!
See the sea?
No?
Lie!!
The waves rolled in,
To the sandy beach,
And we all laughed,
Ha!
Red balloons falling from the sky,
Jesus ain’t here,
Come on Jack!
Come on back!

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