and a pavement covered in skid marks

i think i saw oil in the snow
when you drove past our old place;
and i think there was something on your windshield.

and what should i do with the car?
its torn to shit,
and i just have no idea.

its weird, i think;
when i look back, the only thing i see is the back of your seat
rolling a little too fast down Lane,
a little too dark to see,
and a little too much ice on the road

and the only thing i hear is something i think sounded like your neck snapping;
they told me you died instantly,
but i'll never know

and i smell oil and taste blood
and they told me he was drunk,
but i'll never know.

i see you sometimes, mom,
driving past our old place.
i run outside, but i'm too late.
i'm always too late.
by the time i've reached the street, you've turned on to Lane
and all thats left of you
is a little oil on the snow