It was so late but we couldn’t fall asleep. My head was too full, too electric to turn off. I saw a funeral procession on the freeway. The hearse was white and stuck behind a semi-truck. The off ramp was full of mourners; I wonder if the traffic made them feel less alone.
We were throwing things off the roof and somehow that made us feel better. And we still get nervous every time we see a cop car. But we’re nolonger criminals.
Our hands are clean but that doesnt mean they’ve never had blood on them. And we sure as hell were’nt saving anyone.
Our hands are clean but that doesnt mean they’ve never been dirty. We never wanted to bury our brother.
