2 weeks cold turkey off the Zoloft

'cause the bastards couldn't fit me in 'til August and oh baby

the wiring in my head is bitching at me like the check engine light

in my car that I've been praying for the past 18 months doesn't catch up to me

yessir, I live my life like a fugitive on the run from myself

and thank God I ain't been caught yet, 'cause I got a show tonight

we are four gaping maws to dump weed, beer, and gas station hot dogs in

which I maintain is still a better band name than

Sideways Joe

but it was 3 to 1

I fuck up 4 times in 3 songs and I feel like an asshole

but the audience is hammered

and the show plugs on

Dill says it's a waste of energy to care more about the show than the audience does

and I think that's fuckin' dumb

and I think thinking like that is why Dill's on bass

even though he wanted drums

and the set I'm on's his

and I whack 'em extra hard, but it's alright

'cause he fucked my girl back in freshman year of highschool

so I think it evens out

Mike's screaming out his lungs like he didn't get through college on a choir scholarship

with a voice they used to have to cut your balls off to achieve

but I guess he's having fun

and I'm wondering how long he's gonna stay a he

'cause I remember all the drag and the jokes about castration

and the way he rubbed his face into my chest like a cat claiming you as its property [changed this line slightly]

sometimes I miss those days

other times I remember sharing bathroom stalls with the genuine animals that lived in those dorms

I used to be somebody's

I'm nobody's now

I am Bir Tawil between Egypt and Sudan, unclaimed by either, lacking resources valuable enough to war over

and some asshole in the pit's starting up a fight and distracting me from moping

fine by me

when stuff like this happens, I like to pretend I'm controlling them with my drums (or Dill's drums, in this case)

it's a lot of fun, and it's only gotten my ass beat in the parking lot 3 or 4 times so far

after the show, a few sweaty punks tell me it was awesome [changed this line slightly]

and I say thanks, but it doesn't really matter

the show is always awesome when you're that plastered

it's a good excuse to slam body into body

like sex, without the regret and disappointment

Dill says to be careful with the drums when I'm packing them up

it's his little way of showing they're still his, even though I'm the only one who plays them

Montana hasn't said a word all night, but in the parking lot he hands me a bottle of sodium nitrite

he's not sure if he's killing himself before Christmas, and he wants to make sure he isn't acting on impulse

I put it in my glove compartment

the only things I know about Montana are that he graduated from MIT

and he fucking hates Christmas

I don't know why he fucking hates Christmas

that's his cross to bear

I'm so worn out from the show and the slow electric pulse in my head I collapse on the couch

right next to the pile of laundry, 2 weeks old and unfolded

the fugitive escapes once again.