Back seat dreams and blurs for visions…
divorced and going out again;
wishing I could just have stayed at home.
The smell of smoke and alcohol
thickening the air…
does the woman I call mother even care?
Feeling good was all that mattered,
whatever that was supposed to mean,
and brought along, my childhood shattered
more with every drunken scene.
Stepping out, their faces loom,
all twisted by their favorite vice.
The ride is over; time to hide again
from their laughing, evil faces
painted from a nightmare;
as they pass my mom the hit
her friends all laugh at me.
Feeling good was all that mattered;
I never understood that lie,
shaken, beaten, spirit tattered,
well, that’s just how it would be for me.