Collision Blonde

I’m still struggling with what comes next. Yeah, I’m all talk when I say I’ll start to drink less, and that time I said that I’d be better off, it counts for nothing when action’s already said enough.
Love lost its flavour on a burned tongue, like bourbon burns in poems inside of virgin lungs.
And mine, they were screaming for blood, but no one was listening.
But while that heat held our hearts in its throes, with dirty water and ash in our bones, to plant our hope and watch what grows our Southeast Summer, a withered rose.
And to your West Coast flashing of lights, to that Pacific blue ghost in your eyes, to the collision at Blonde and the past, I whispered “don’t come back”.
It’s not enough to simply let it lay, to say you’re sorry or to stay away, you try to bury your spite beneath the arid soil but you can’t kill the roots when they’ve already taken hold.
And to your west coast flashing of lights, to that Pacific Blue ghost in your eyes, to the collision at Blonde and the past, I whispered “don’t come back”.
And to your flights back east, Ohio Valley retreats, to the collision at Blonde in the past, don’t remember, don’t come back.
And if time won’t heal, then I don’t know what will. Life’s too long to wait and tell, Kentucky straight on a wound that will not ever heal.
And to your west coast flashing of lights, to that Pacific Blue ghost in your eyes, to the collision at blonde in the past.
Don’t remember, don’t come back.