96 or Silver is Trash

I think it’s a funny word. I think about the way you talk. I think about me thinking. I think about how happy you are. I think this is what I need and I’m forever self aware. My throat itches, see? I’m not a fool or naive. I just run my mouth and love the morning after. You’ll be happy out in San Diego or down by Pasadena. I want to drop by and sleep on your sagging couch. By then, I’ll play guitar without blushing. You can name a song if you want. Ballard for you. Whatever. Yeah, whatever.