over it, under which witch

my cheeks hurt from laughing
and crying and living,
so far is all we have. 

blood stains,
witches walk my way
especially in Wal-Marts.

and every hot chick
is from Kentucky
which is weird. 

dear reader,
please forgive me
for writing this crap.

I got some cash,
but I am still a linden,
disillusioned in the wind
for the time I've put in. 

I don't really think
any of these stanzas
matter much, but they come like nostalgia rock.