until morale improves, the beatings will continue.

Aug 18, 2004 16:53

chapter three

i walked the rode from tucson to san antonia, with the smell of bleed on my breath. ninety days of sweat and dirt feels like one night. when youve got nothing left. till theres nothign left to do, but die.... buckshot is my bread. and ill drink whiskey instead of water. cause i cant stand to be sober in this place. your hands on my face every step of the way. trying to peel away the pain. and ill drink whiskey instead of water.....
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