Clara Road

Clara Road written and performed by Ryan J. Tressel
This town is so small they let fathers name streets after their daughters. Dead end cul de sacs a mile long; I wonder why they bother. But there's no avenue named for me, this night is all I get. The dashboard clock, your hungry hands, my father's silhouette. So drive me down the end of Clara Rd. though that's not my name, but in the dark and on our backs I'm sure we all feel the same. The stories always speak of this as something precious lost but it's just the burn of cheap upholstery, the night as black as your exhaust. There's something about the tangled hair, the blouses streaked with green and the quiet, childlike shudder as you cum against your jeans. You catch your breath with heavy head crushed against my chest. We've lain so long the grass has left criss-crosses burned into our flesh. So drive me home the way we came, I live on Laurel Ave. My father restless, mourning the loss of something girls never really have. And go wash your stained and stickiness, think it neither crime nor victory. Just make your lust into a thing and name it after me.