Story 2

Clipping

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    Godsmack is how the wind feels
    On the face of Mike Winfield
    On his way home from the bar where he works
    Nights, the worst nights, don't nobody tip right

    And between the marriage offers and the fist fights
    And if another motherfucker touch his wrist
    Trying to pull him in to whisper

    He ain't making it to midnight
    Don't they know he got a lighter in his pocket
    A matchbook in his sock
    And a block full of charred skeletons
    Closeted, begging to get out

    He paused 'cause he's scared of airing out the thoughts
    He can taste it in his mouth, the sulfur and bitter carbon
    Hearing all the burning bodies shout but no
    That was a full lifetime ago and nobody ever has to know

    He has never told, well except Ronald
    But that don't count, he was sweet and exactly
    What he needed him to be at the time
    Wine and candlelight and nice texts at lunchtime

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    Why had he not called Ron back?
    Guess there just wasn't a spark, ha!
    No, no, musn't joke about these things
    Wouldn't want to disappoint Doc Clark

    So many hours on the couch
    So many buried memories that take
    So many tears to get them out
    Water hadn't never been a friend

    Hold up, where had he seen that car before?
    Blue Acura, dent on the left rear fender
    Back again the sense of déjà vu
    Strange things you
    Never shake when you wake up in recovery

    But suddenly noticing ash is covering his head
    'Cause it's raining from the sky
    Dials home on his cell phone and gets no reply
    What the fuck?
    Where is the babysitter that he overpays?

    Body takes over and brain becomes disengaged
    Michael is running, his house is three blocks away
    Adrenaline compensating for change in age
    Since the last time that he ran it, god dammit
    Mike knows he gotta get home fast as he can
    Looks up in the sky, glow's familiar
    Knows those families died with similar

    Awnings and on and on he keeps going
    Hits the corner just as he hears the explosion
    Screams come from the house: Did you get them out?
    Mike asking the crowd that has gathered 'round

    Tears running down his face
    There's that familiar taste
    He wishes it would take him to another place
    Son and his baby girl in his home and he can't believe
    That it's gone in a cloud of smoke
    And he's choking and running forward
    And hoping against hope that he might find them alive and well

    But he knows the results too well
    And he knows that he fooled himself
    Then he keeps walking towards the house
    Rather what house is still left
    No intention of stopping, letting the smoke take his breath

    Some strong arm knocks him aside
    Mike falls to the ground and cries
    Why won't you just let me die?
    Why won't you just let me die?

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