Saturday, December 01, 2007
new verse
to the Song of Death. . .
So. . .
Until we are jumping buses and fountains and sharks and canyons and shit. . .
Or until we convert the vision into inspiration and pedal our Schwinns as fast as we can off of plywood ramps we piece together from scraps we find in our dad's garages to jump trash cans or friends foolish enough to lie down in the street or into swimming pools in the Lands of The Great Beyond. . .
Please join me, my dear reader, and raise high a toast:
To another brotha who ain't here.
(Much thanks to Matt for the verse)
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Evel Knievel died todaySadly but inevitably, my dear reader, another piece of my childhood died today as well.
He's dead and gone and passed away
Never again will we hear him say
"Ouch"
So. . .
Until we are jumping buses and fountains and sharks and canyons and shit. . .
Or until we convert the vision into inspiration and pedal our Schwinns as fast as we can off of plywood ramps we piece together from scraps we find in our dad's garages to jump trash cans or friends foolish enough to lie down in the street or into swimming pools in the Lands of The Great Beyond. . .
Please join me, my dear reader, and raise high a toast:
To another brotha who ain't here.
(Much thanks to Matt for the verse)
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