hockey, faggotry, mental illness

letterman

It's such a useless thing:
A letterman without a jacket.
I'm such a useless thing:
A lonely fag without companion.

It doesn't really mean anything,
that purple, black, and gold.
A one and nine stuck on the sleeve,
that champion patch on my heart,
it's not worth any money.

I can get my name embroidered,
but they still won't use it.
I can get the inside quilted,
but it'll still be cold.

That entire team doesn't care
if I live or die.
And some of them
probably prefer the latter.