Sister Perugia and the Fa Cup

Exit gate C opened up, And the followers flood Turnstiles overcrowding, And fallen ticket stubs A namesake for the estate Just off of 23, On the way to my place In the southern United States We've been distant, More than I envisioned, But I invent connections the whole drive down. I think in 2014, when I was 18 or 19, A midwestern soundtrack For late night soccer and drinks Triple C highs And Red uniforms in extra time World Cup in the breakroom In between classes at school Another cup of coffee and a bet in the pool I didn't know much back then, I only liked the color red. I didn't know what the number on the sleeves meant. Exit gate C opened up A capacity influx And the following crush Now a cup match, memorialized For the 96 that died, Guilt heavy in my heart, For a shameful valuation of life I think, sometimes, that you catch me staring in your yards some nights. But I just need to relate, To some degree, A measure of pain Briefly, I commiserate Before the rest of my complaints Turn into the same songs I heard on darker days But this distance isn't quite so great When put into context, the hours spent awake- You and I, writing similar lines I can lie on my bed, Close my eyes and project I can see the Midwestern home project store, I can see the terraces of a stadium filling up with more, I can see 23, The same way that you can see me.