Analysis of Dry Umbrella

I'm fifteen and high on grasshopper legs when Mr. Jackson
buries my head into the pillow. 'Stop it you're hurting me'

From then on, life erupts, like a sh*tty fire-work display
and I'm caught in the middle of it all--
 dry vodka, tongue piercing, *j*c*l*t*d rage

As my hand lifts to shield from the guilty stares

At the bottom of a hill

They stand in a line

And I look to my side to see your hand in mine
'f*ck em'

'f*ck em all' you smile;

While spitting out the remnants of a puffy
we were lucky, it rained that day..