I’m picking up the pieces of a broken glass beaker I dropped in my chem class when I was fifteen and I’m thinking of the times that we spent after school filming chase scenes and odd dreams and shit-tier horror scenes. Remember the days that we’d spend underground? Exploring the storm drains that we lived around, and loitering outside of fair city mall using band-aids to decorate those old, white walls.
Now I’m gone, I don’t know what I’ll do
So far away, for now this is goodbye
Out of this house (we love), I don’t know what I’ll do (without you)
Away from this state, lets make the most of this.