i feel like writing a story, but i don't have one to tell.
on a rooftop yesterday: the beer was a bit flat and the end of my fingers were numb from the cold. the fog was thick, and i couldn't see much of my feet. the hum of the double bass was in my hair, and the groove of the sax was in my knees, and i don't know about you but i didn't have nothin' but the blues.
it's been a long time
since you've given me
(i miss them.
they miss you.)