Here I am neck deep in real friends that talk too much about modern baseball. Falling in reverse through a world of misfits and bad religion, finding myself at the starting line. "Dance, Wade Dance. These are your wonder years, and American standards hold no innocent victims. STICK TO YOUR GUNS!" They said, but I stay in the corner under oath as my senses fail. f**ked up, is what they call me as suicidal tendencies get the ghost inside, because modern life is war. That's the story so far.