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."