記録✍️
GET OFF MY LAWN
Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while that you shouldn’t have f**ked with?
That’s me.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Kowalski?”
“I’m here for a confession.”
“Oh, Lord Jesus. What have you done?”
“Nothing. You just take it easy now.”
“What are you up to?”
“Are you gonna give me a confession or not?”
I’d like to leave my 1972 Gran Torino to
my friend Thao Vang Lor on the condition that you don’t chop-top the roof like one of those beaners, don’t paint any idiotic flames on it like some white-trash hillbilly, and don’t put a big, gay spoiler on the rear end like you see on all the other zipperheads’ cars.
It just looks like hell.
If you can refrain from doing any of that, it’s yours.
So tenderly
Your story is
Nothing more than
What you see
Or what you’ve done
Or will become
Standing strong
Do you belong
In your skin?
Just wondering
Gentle now
The tender breeze blows
Whispers through my Gran Torino
Whistling another
Tired song
Engine hums
And bitter dreams glow
Heart locked
In a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long
GRAN TORINO
