Woodside Avenue
by All Bets Off· from Well Die Here
The orphans of the afternoon. Latchkey kids grow up too soon. We shot the moon and ran from cops and found out hearts in vacant lots. Saw too much and bright eyes went cold. The only love we had was the love we stole. God save the children of horror. And there’s nothing to do when you’re locked in a vacancy. God save the children of horror.