Follow me down to the old oak tree,
Moss between toes,
Grows like flowers,
In corpses,
Lining the streets,
Lining your jacket, pocket aces,
Tricks stuffed up your sleeve,
Down your throat,
Follow me down to the old oak,
We’ll sit, shielded beneath,
The branches,
Cool in the shadows,
Of night, streetlights,
Spot the horizon,
With golden freckles,
Against the navy complexion of the sky,
Beacons shine,
Light pours out of wide, unblinking white eyes,
Flashlights over crime scenes, tearful goodbyes,
Heartbreak,
Cured, by Elmer’s glue, pieced together by shaky hands and codeine,
Drugs on your lips, I can taste them,
Your lungs fill with smoke,
Follow me down the old oak,
Trees hidden by your cigarettes, wet with rain,
And dark as your eyes,
Take my hand, run away,
Past the dead and the free,
To the old oak tree,
Grow old with me,
Moss over bones,
Growing like weeds,
In the cracked pavement of city streets.