Three dead trees formed a hole for us kids to live in,
nestled off the main road in plain view we built a secret lair for us to hide in
and wipe the blood from our teeth but not our fists,

that was holy and saved for the moldy couch that was left there just like us,
and was filled with construction sand with not a single growth left alone.

No one dared to sit on it.

That was where I read treasure island
because my dad said my english had to be good
and so it was just the classics I still hate

and it was where long john silver
lit our god on fire and where I hid in the bushes

because I thought the trucks were there for me.