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.