what a folk-singer thinks about semi-national holiday; a pumpkin doing the charleston, never forgetting the foxtrot: the pleaded plaid pitchforks story of sorrow and the suburban wastelands "like this"
he doesnt think that we cant ever go around
more than once
more than twice
yet we've proved him wrong, not three times
and the last thing on my mind
is what i want to do tomorow
its not about the before, not about the later
its about the now
and the best thing is i love every thing about it
he will watch us with firey eyes
and i will stare back into them
and its a contest that cant be won
because all i am is human
all he is is a demonic thing which can only feel joy
the last time i have visited you was not of any consequence
and for that i will not dwell upon
becauase all of us, every single one
have darkened eyes, and even darker morals
it feels nice to turn around never looking back
and thinking how you are paid to do nothing
if not nothing something
and if something
the most insignifigant possible thing
so we returned
are faces changed
and with one look around
we noticeed that we werent alone
not in of that we were the different ones
but the way everyone was
had changed to an incomprehensible level
and with that
we high-tailed it the shit out of there
but we remembered
that its not always the person that changes
its what changes that person
how cliche
for me to say
i love you
mr night
and every day
i cannot stay
is one more day
for me to come home
but we dont want to do this at all
the burden of this happiness has drug me down
not my friends, they have always been stronger
but its ok, for ill rest and plot and dream and write
and think and breath and dream some more
until once again, the stranger within me
knocks on my own door
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