Story 2 - clipping.

Godsmack is how the wind feels

On the face of Mike Winfield

On his way home from the bar where he works

Nights—the worst nights, don’t nobody tip right

And between the marriage offers and the fist fights

And if another motherfucker touch his wrist

Trying to pull him in to whisper

He ain’t making it to midnight

Don’t they know he got a lighter in his pocket

A matchbook in his sock

And a block full of charred skeletons

Closeted, begging to get out

He paused cause he’s scared of airing out the thoughts

He can taste it in his mouth, the sulfur and bitter carbon

Hearing all the burning bodies shout but no

That was a full lifetime ago and nobody ever has to know

He has never told, well except Ronald

But that don’t count, he was sweet and exactly

What he needed him to be at the time

Wine and candlelight and nice texts at lunchtime

Why had he not called Ron back?

Guess there just wasn’t a spark, ha!

No, no, musn’t joke about these things

Wouldn’t want to disappoint Doc Clark

So many hours on the couch

So many buried memories that take

So many tears to get them out

Water hadn’t never been a friend

Hold up—where had he seen that car before?

Blue Acura, dent on the left rear fender

Back again the sense of déjà vu

Strange things you

Never shake when you wake up in recovery

But suddenly noticing ash is covering his head

'Cause it’s raining from the sky

Dials home on his cell phone and gets no reply

What the fuck?

Where is the babysitter that he overpays?

Body takes over and brain becomes disengaged

Michael is running, his house is three blocks away

Adrenaline compensating for change in age

Since the last time that he ran it, god dammit

Mike knows he gotta get home fast as he can

Looks up in the sky, glow’s familiar

Knows those families died with similar

Awnings and on and on he keeps going

Hits the corner just as he hears the explosion

Screams come from the house, «Did you get them out?»

Mike asking the crowd that has gathered 'round

Tears running down his face

There’s that familiar taste

He wishes it would take him to another place

Son and his baby girl in his home and he can’t believe

That it’s gone in a cloud of smoke

And he’s choking and running forward

And hoping against hope that he might find them alive and well

But he knows the results too well

And he knows that he fooled himself

Then he keeps walking towards the house

Rather what house is still left

No intention of stopping, letting the smoke take his breath

Some strong arm knocks him aside

Mike falls to the ground and cries

Why won’t you just let me die?

Why won’t you just let me die?