monday night and it's still going strong or smelling fowl of the weekend that splattered into pieces and back together again
and the holes leave me sad, such a sentimental fool, and the tables turn and the friends come home, after a long time in the other country
with long hair and unshaven legs, singing of freedom into my ears freedom into my own dirty unwashed jet black greasy hair
it's funny how when you follow your spirit into your soul, your fellow aura becomes whole, your world though feeble and scary stands on your solid ground, slightly leaning but not easily broken from the root. as long as you know, as long as you know. it's all inevitable anyway, but you'll do what is true, what you have to
the circus clowns, the songs and the semi-fairy tales, all of a sudden making sense, making sense out of mere pennies and you realize you've dreamt about this a million times, a million times over, and the night has been so long, the night has been so dark that the tears won't stop flowing. and you realize that the music still keeps playing.
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