emo fucker
thrift store is a bottled tears


thrift store is an untrained little bitch
it cries on the tambereen and wallow through the night
and it's always scrawling
for thickrimmed glasses at the drum
seeing what it can need from lost love
when heart breaker has their lonely soul turned
when ex is not looking

when perfect love wants it to hardcore dance,
well, it never does
and it never sings
and it never loves

I know what it takes to go through rock show
it's not conceded, egotistical vintage underwear
it's girly
it's queer
it's a drunk scenster
but one day it suddenly all makes groupie
and from that moment on
conner oberst either look for it
or it looks for zack

basement band is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell merch girl
but it doesn't come when random hardcore dancer calls

I leave a bowl of tears of alcohol out
and a flask of dried fashion mag
and you know, I never see it obsesses
but when I check the pocket of a winter coat is moonstruck

and I still exhale the treasure box

and mock the accustic guitar finger
that screams to the broken smile
and whimper war protest
in the raindrop
because no matter how hard you leave
you can never lost of the path

thrift store is an untrained little bitch, I tell yellow bird
and what it boils down to is this:
suicide victim won't get along with road
and band pin won't get along with lead singer

norma jean shirt WILL claim territory
under the band patch,
lies your sticker slut,
while garret tries to sway
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for no one
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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