Tekster: Pinhead Gunpowder. Shoot The Moon. 27.

I'm not seventeen

And going on nowhere fast

A decade lost in the East Bay fog
Birthday cards thrown in the trash


Last years' calendar

On the wall, collecting dust
My friends say to tear it down



But instead I'll leave it up


And now I'm 27

When I turn 28

Driving to the 7-11

Will I end up losing faith



On expiration dates

Promises decayed

New Years resolutions sold

To the bums out on the street


What was it all worth?
And was it worth the while
Lost and found and ten years down



And torched it to the ground



Will I still stand in line


When I turn 29?
But now I'll take a number
And it reads 27