castles built in forests far away
hold crumbling boys inside crumbling walls
where water runs from old mine shafts
and carves fissures in the rocks
like the fissures in their hearts
they climb and hide and play all day
and hit the lip when life gets heavy
one more sip equals one less worry
and they don't have to think about us
or the things that make them hate themselves
every few days or so they miss the warmth
and we find them on the side of the road
borrowed communication, stolen ash trays
pockets full of change and half smokes
at least we understand neverland
and that lost boys never grow up
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