So either you die or you live long enough to regret. Seen enough of the first that then second’s a blessing and yet.. One lot of luck is never enough, the ghosts of the greebos, the goth kids growing up. Always say you could always stay for one more. One more. Keep the frontages clean but the factory scene is just dust. I know, it’s part of me. Like drinking to friends that you lost cos they drank too much. We drink to irony. He tried every trick to leave his mark on the scene (oh he tried!) but the scene left it’s mark on him. Oh, one lot of luck is never enough. The ghosts of the greebos, the don’t-call-them-emo’s blood. Always say you could always stay for one more. And that’s about the time I walked away from him, geddit? That’s about the time I walked away from him. And his parents hid the date of the funeral, but his friends showed up, dressed down, tried to act normal. But there is no normal in grief, no common bond but the buried beneath. Some nights seem less like a relapse, and more a release. One more.