soft lights. burning stars, bleeding hearts. we're
standing, beside ourselves, dropping every line in this, our
play. twenty years of strained philosophy and billy joel had it
all along.
in the only time i've ever known, its us or them-its
sadness or euphoria. look alive, its too hard to stomach paint
by numbers or death by apathy. for better or for worse, our best
intentions won't turn into second guesses. if we're
sleeping on the wing, then i guess its too little too late for
everything. and if we don't try to keep our head above the
tides, then we can start counting the seconds until we fall
asleep on the floor of our beloved chesapeake."
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