We were as tough as our glasses.
That bend around packages
As tight as questions;
Too tight like mistakes we’ve made.
When the cop said:
All that blood, son, is your father,
To a boy just like us;
We looked over our rims for some mistake—
But the barber didn’t make one.
He’d cut that time
As deep as true feelings.
Ronnie and I were thin then…
Dracula, would never come for us…
But we made a promise:
For this blood
For the whole world’s
We made a promise.
—primus st. john, tyson’s corner.