Kettles will be whistling to proclaim, with shrill insistence, an impending cup of Sanka. Someone will be hearing (and, presumably, enjoying) something written by Paul Anka. Dogs will be forsaken and taken to the pound on the day they lay your body in the ground. A rock band will be praying for that single A&R guy who appreciates true genius. Someone in love will croon to someone whos already leaving: I hope nothing comes between us. Flags the wide world over will fly high atop the mast when that day comes to pass. Smirking here inside our nervous breakdown - shaking while the Lucky Planet sleeps. The night retreats... I swear it does... it cant stay dark for keeps. So lets go out and act as if its Saturday - I cannot bear to wait til one arrives. The night retreats, the night returns. The night surrounds our lives. Arguments will rage, between committed individuals, about substantial issues. In a thousand teenage bedrooms, human passion will erupt into a thousand Kleenex tissues. Bats will keep careening round their echoes in their caves on the day they lower you into your grave. Come on with me, well wander to a quiet place - an antidote to all this empty noise weve thrown up in our frenzy to deny each others voice. And, just for fun, well sing a little symphony - and, just for once, not care if it survives. The night retreats, the night returns. The night surrounds our lives.
Posted on: Sat, 29 Mar 2014 06:08:07 +0000
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