The preachers preach, only folded flags And the mothers mourn, holding folded flags. Just caskets and folded flags. Just caskets and folded flags. No hope, just folded flags. No hope, just folded flags. No hope.”
I’ve gotta get out of here, but the memories I’ll take with me. Everywhere I go, to everyone I know. These memories will stay with me. To escape this weathered town and what this place is all about. These memories will stay with me… will stay… will stay with me.
Unwanted, but breathing. In the next room, sleeping. My mother, she’s crying and my father’s been drinking. In our run down apartment, where the roof is still leaking.
He’s cursing and cussing, it’s just the whiskey talking. I’ve got lots of memories like this one. Of empty days and nights spent tired and lonesome. When I think back to all of it, it’s all too much when you’re just a little kid. My little brother, just a newborn baby. In the image of my mother, she says he’s a blessing. But not to my father, oh how he hates him. “An undeserving mistake.” He calls him a burden. I’ve got lots of memories like this one. Of picking fights and picking sides between them. When I think back to all of it, it’s all too much when you’re just a little kid. When I wake up in the morning it all feels like a bad dream, one that follows you and haunts you endlessly.
Broken and beaten from the abuse and the cheating, the addiction, the lying and the promise of leaving. While my old man was a bastard, I admired and loved him. Us two kids were born in to a family, not a fortune.
I hear you’ve been telling all your friends that you’re done with me like you always knew things wouldn’t work out. And I’ve been hearing things from people that I don’t want to talk to, like it matters who you’re sleeping with now. Can I erase from my mind anything that you said or any time that we spent with each other? I don’t want to waste away another cell on a memory when you’re just another meaningless lover. Forget the nights that we spent laughing until the morning on your bedroom floor without a thought about your roommate asleep down the hall. Forget the days we’d waste in bed, tangled, the smoke still on your breath, undressed and pinning you up to the wall. I swore I heard you talking when I was tossing in my sleep. You were always trying to walk in circles around me. I was out one night when I saw you and you froze me where I stood. I would hate you if I could. I would hate you but I’m not finished yet. Even you, up on that pedestal, the time will come when you will deconstruct yourself and remake what you are. When it does you’ll remember me and the words I spoke and wonder how you ever could have strayed so far.