Plaid skirts that hide scars walk in single file. Ties that restrict blood
to the brain. Passing notes in math class, (freedom ware your scars of
desire), it's a coming of age story, (freedom ware your scars of desire),
conflicting impulses, (freedom wear your scars of desire) cuts seem to bend
the sky. I've read this book before. Anxious eyes stare out of warped glass
waiting for the 3 o'clock bell. I'm trying hard to forget that cold october
day, when love challenged freedom to a fist fight, freedom looked victorious
but No one was prepared for what would happen on that baseball diamond when
love reached beneath her plaid jumper, pulled out a switch blade and drove
it...directly through the heart of st angelis. Any notion of self government
was left bleeding on the pitchers mound.
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