The terth by Andrew Garces
just got in from my long drive,
with my ankle all blistered from its time,
spent at the pressure producing spring-loaded clutch pedal.
ACCELACCELERAACCELERANDO my friend towards the sea.
and when you get there the sand will be white, and the ocean will smell
like it died.
I worshipped god on the sand,
but I felt more like I was worshipping myself.
I sang at the ocean,
but the ocean sang back..
SHUT UP YOU…
you sing like crap