One-Two-Three-Four
By RayDanger
It's still all about the music. Even though this dead man walking searches for a way out, a way to escape this abyss. The one thing that is truly my love, my life and my drug of choice is the music. I'm a prisoner in this world. I lock myself into these self-imposed confines of my little apartment. I barely venture outside these walls. I would stay here forever, safe from the harm lurking around the corner. Demons on every street corner ready to rip my heart out, douse it with gasoline and dance like a tribe of indians around my bleeding heart, all the while hoot and hollering to their gods. But I dance to my own drum beat. One-Two-Three-Four. That's all I need.
Sometimes I venture out into this concrete jungle and risk it all to here some band play. Good or bad. Local
or some touring band. Music is the only thing I can drink, the only thing I can mainline into my veins and still come out on top. One-Two-Three-Four. It's my mantra. I can meditate and fall into a deep slumber. I can speak in tongues and have holy communion with whatever higher power there might be. The loud music puts me in a trance, drowing out anybody in the crowd. It's just me and the music. Me and the music.
Sometimes I get in the pit. At my age, it's not the most smartest thing I can do. I'll feel it tomorrow for sure. But fuck it. I live for this moment. And I can get the shit beat out of me by someone wearing my band's t-shirt and not know who the fuck I am. Because they don't remember me. I'm irrelevant. But I still have the music. I Still have the music.
By RayDanger
It's still all about the music. Even though this dead man walking searches for a way out, a way to escape this abyss. The one thing that is truly my love, my life and my drug of choice is the music. I'm a prisoner in this world. I lock myself into these self-imposed confines of my little apartment. I barely venture outside these walls. I would stay here forever, safe from the harm lurking around the corner. Demons on every street corner ready to rip my heart out, douse it with gasoline and dance like a tribe of indians around my bleeding heart, all the while hoot and hollering to their gods. But I dance to my own drum beat. One-Two-Three-Four. That's all I need.
Sometimes I venture out into this concrete jungle and risk it all to here some band play. Good or bad. Local
or some touring band. Music is the only thing I can drink, the only thing I can mainline into my veins and still come out on top. One-Two-Three-Four. It's my mantra. I can meditate and fall into a deep slumber. I can speak in tongues and have holy communion with whatever higher power there might be. The loud music puts me in a trance, drowing out anybody in the crowd. It's just me and the music. Me and the music.
Sometimes I get in the pit. At my age, it's not the most smartest thing I can do. I'll feel it tomorrow for sure. But fuck it. I live for this moment. And I can get the shit beat out of me by someone wearing my band's t-shirt and not know who the fuck I am. Because they don't remember me. I'm irrelevant. But I still have the music. I Still have the music.