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Dirty Snow

(Or: “Letter To Myself”)

By Wil C. Fry, Feb. 21, 2000, 01:37

Copyright © 2000 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.

Cheap thrills get pretty expensive and boring after a while
And those fancy tires will wear thin after a few thousand miles
You had to get the cell phone ‘cause you had to be in touch
But now you’ve lost it ‘cause you always talk too much

Then you wandered down a dark street one night, talking to yourself

You drank till there was a gaping hole in your liver
You smoked till you woke up with a cough and a shiver
Your ad says you’re cute, sensitive, and over six feet tall
And you found that credit cards have limits after all

Then you stood on a windy bridge, looking down at the icy water

Saying you’ll love her forever doesn’t do the trick anymore
‘Cause the only ones who like you are rotten to the core
The sad song in the background rolls on, sounding so true
And that tired, broken person in the mirror — yes, it’s you

Then you sat on the dirty curb, watching the cars fly by

Dirty snow tells the truth: it all breaks down as time goes by
Yesterday you were born, but tomorrow you’ll surely die
In the end, the corpse will lie, still and stiff and cold
And we see no moral to the story that’s been told

Then you dug your grave, looked at your watch, and waited

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