Took a seat, alone, down on the Ol’ Nine Line.

Tucked a fifth of whiskey under the belt.

And although it’s just a remedy,

A false sense of feeling fine,

For a while now, it’s the best I’ve ever felt.


The train’s a’screeching on the rusty tracks

Every time it pulls through another station.

Though I doubt that you can hear me,

Way down South through the volcanic cracks

I’m scratching you a poem, a lamentation.


So, tell me Jacob, what’s it like down there?

Is it as hot as you had hoped?

Or does it feel more like a dream?

Or does it make you fucking scream?

Not getting mad – just saying that I never really coped.


Well from up North, I can give you a quick break down.

Everything’s been falling straight to shit.

All the bombings, terrorism –

Been making me rethink nihilism,

Wish you had as well, before you decided to quit.


Yeah, it’s taken me a really long while now

To write, and get all this off my chest.

Been eight long agonizing seasons,

But I’m sure you had your reasons         ,

So perhaps it really was just for the best.


Though I’ve been grinding my yellow teeth –

Just knowing that the cold-dark ground,

Is what you’re trapped beneath –

Without a drink, a friend, or sound.

So, Jacob,  keep your bright eyes open,

– And I’m not saying that I’m hopin’ –

I might just soon enough be coming ‘round.

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