We died in your arms.
Let me live in your arms.

Sometimes I wish there was little to say with nothing but time,
but there's so much to say and our time is gone.

Suggests
There were 24 others

And here we land
Utopia. The Christmas number.

Built in with each other
Boxed-in:
We've multiplied.

A virus destroys a host cell
By replicating itself
So so many times over
That the Cell expands to
Maximum capacity
Then bursts.

I've been reassured that that
Won't happen
In number 25.

Not easily hurt,
just easy to hurt.

Not too weak
but it only takes two weeks

I'm never a keeper,
Next time you should keep her

Everything was pointing in your direction
and now these arrows are choking me.

Now and again it seems worse than it is,
but mostly the view is accurate.
You see your breath in the air as you'll climb up the stairs
to that coffin you call your apartment.
And you sink in your chair, brush the snow from your hair
and drink the cold away,
and you're not really sure what you're doing this for,
but you need something to fill up the days.
A few more hours.
There's a dream in my brain that just won't go away.
It's been stuck there since it came a few nights ago.
And I'm standing on a bridge in the town where I lived
as a kid with my mom and my brothers.
And then the bridge disappears and I'm standing on air
with nothing holding me.
And I hand like a star, ******* glow in the dark
for all those starving eyes to see,
like the ones we've wished on.
But now I'm confused. Is this death really you,
and do these dreams have any meaning?
No. No, I think it's more like a ghost that's been following us both.
Something vague that we're not seeing.
Something more like a feeling.