Testo Thrillhouse

this picture is gathering dust, so every few years i'll brush it off along with the memories of all the friendships i've held so close to me/it's getting warm outside, so maybe i'll meet you underneath the highway/and we can shred the concrete until our arms are weak from lifting each other up/i forget everything that you said when you told me not to talk to strangers, now these people seem so different/every kid that gave us food and a makeshift bed; we hope you know it means everything to us