we didn’t know,
as we made our drunken,
stumbling, way, down a midnight street,
the depth and wisdom of our slurred words
we had left, a short time ago,
Rocco’s Funeral Parlor,
where our pal Georgio, fourteen, laid dead
Aldo had the booze as always.
and it doesn’t take long
for kids to feel it
pimply faced kids
too young to shave
we shaved every morning,
too young to smoke,
cigarettes in hand,
arms around shoulders,
singing:
"we're here
because we’re here
because we’re here
because we’re here
we’re here
because we’re here
because we’re here
because we’re here"
pepe nero