Juarez St.

You were snorting lines of cocaine
Your mother's asleep in the next room
Four in the morning on a Saturday
In between lines you explained what you'd been through

And I thought about how it always amazed me
How lighthearted we could be about our abuse
The fact still remains that you weren't a bad kid
Just always bored with something to prove

But I remember a secret shared on a balcony
From one of the strongest people I know
I was sixteen then, not willing to believe
We don't talk about that night anymore
In fact we never did since
And sometimes I wonder just why that is
Why I didn't say I was sorry
Well, I am now and that's not what you deserve

I took a long drive home just for the day
Don't know why but the shithole was calling my name
Two hundred miles and a tank of gas
And you know, I can't comprehend
Who I am now versus who I was then
The distance just seems so immense

And somewhere in that drive
I had to remind myself I was still alive
And we've all got responsibilities
Whatever the fuck that means

But if I try hard enough
I can still remember you in that room
Going on and on about how when you get out
There's so many things you can't wait to do
But now you say you've got nothing left to give
Bled dry just wondering what comes next
You spend your whole life working on something
Just to be beat down over and over again