Soundtracks for Skins #33

Scratches all over my disc's best songs, sent in love, and I am pissed, running wild in the streets with no shirt and the cops just saw me, hello fences, dogs, and the chaos that ends with a clang; but only in my head. A life term was the sentence, when the gavel dropped on my crying self; and there is no putting it back in the bottle and I'm not sorry for the steamrollings, good and bad. But I do miss them rolling over me in bed, and making me rise from the bottom of my pond like mayflies, calling me up, to jump again.