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he was preaching at the bus stop, he was drunk, drunk on mouthwash, talk shit he a for a cigarette i gave him a mint a lady asked will the six soon he asked her if shed like to take a trip to the moon his sarcasm reeked of loneliness and i know i hated him through the snow i could see a reflection fragile is the hell we make for ourselves when we acknowledge that the spotlight's on. he was getting more obnoxious and he wouldn't quit even though our faces read you're full of shit and then she split for another stop he was asking for a smoke and he was pissed i said no he made a fist so i pulled out my dick "try smoking this" so similar it was killing me, so full of shit at only 15. fragile is the hell we make for ourselves when we acknowledge that the spotlight's on. he was me in high school, a stereo-type, a well-trained tool but since then i've learned that all clowns aren't fools but if the me of then could see me now, i'm sure he wouldn't listen up anyhow he'd say "i knew you when you used to matter" but i've known him since he wasn't so easily flattered From Letras Mania