When I was younger, 14 or so, I lived my life like it was over. Spent my days searching for cigarette butts, my nights in a newspaper bin. Loitered the halls of North Miami Beach Senior High on cocaine or pussy or anything goes, a comic book collecting time-bomb. Hey, alright. It`s not over. It`s never over. When I was younger, 14 or so, I lived my life by the next court order. Holed away in rehabs, where they promised to save my soul. I`m still waiting, and I miss Matt Craft, I miss smoking crack, and I miss my bedroom. And though John`s still around, there`s no going back I presume.
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