It's a melancholy kind of midnight as I sit here chasing dreams,
Whiling away the hours with my well-worn reveries.
Cocooning myself in a blanket of whimsy as the moonlight gleams,
I melt into a world where I am welcomed heartily.

Hope is a fragile thing
That should be well-kept,
But the best I can do
Is a box through which you can see.

In my glass box,
Lives all my hope;
And with that hope,
Live all my dreams;
And with those dreams,
Live all my fears;
And with those fears,
My inhibitions.

So take a peek
At the things that define me,
And wonder at the preposterous way
In which I was made.

And when you are through
Examining my soul,
I ask only this of you:

Hold out your glass box
And allow me
To look through you too.

Need an afternoon snack?
Try Shane's Rib Shack!
It's a place with a knack
For the most perfect rack.

Eat a pile or eat a stack.
Heck, eat a whole back.
I ain't lying; this ain't no flak.
The best rib place is Shane's Rib Shack!

I'm lying on my back
And staring through the trees
When suddenly
I realize!

There is a profound similarity between trees and knees.

For trees provide the life-sustaining oxygen
But are chopped and burned and mulched,
And knees aid in the ease of walking
But are scraped and knocked and bruised

I'm lying on my back
And staring past my knees
When suddenly
I realize!

Life would be nothing, were it but for trees and knees.

I miss the quiet nights, the trusted friends,
The movie nights that never end.
I miss the smells and sounds and sights,
The after-midnight-blinking traffic lights.

I miss the familiar streets and places,
And I miss the most the darling faces
Of friends and family and others  as dear.
Oh, to have them again so near.

Here, miles from where I set out,
I have friends who like me, no doubt.
They're just not the same as those old and worn;
Those precious ones whose distance I mourn.

I have a friend whose name is Fish,
But I'm not too sure why we call him this.

He's very tall, and his hair is red.
It used to be long, but not anymore,
'Cause he got it cut real close to his head.

He lives out on Highway Eighty-Five,
And sometimes I honk my horn
When I go past on my back-to-school drive.

He plays guitar with mad crazy skills
And works at Winn-Dixie
Because no one else will.

He goes to school to be an engineer.
(I think I forgot to tell you
That he's a pretty smart kid.)

Black is his favorite color, I guess,
And he wears it a lot,
Probably because it makes it easy to get dressed.

He's a skater guy, and once broke his wrist
But his cast was black,
Which made it kinda hard to sign.

He listens to metal and plays it real loud
Which always scares me when I try
To leave a comment on his myspace profile.

So now you know a little about my friend, Fish,
But I still don't know why we call him this.

We sit and we wait
For what we know not
It has no name or form
But each of us waits

We're sure it's what we want
But is it really?

It comes for a few
And they are overjoyed
We watch them leave, and we wonder
Have they found happiness?
Was it worth the wait?
Will it come for us?

And still we wait
Believing it will come for us
And we will dance with it always

Love
Is what we wait for
And it tantalizes us with its nearness
Laughing and dancing just out of reach
Our fingers slip and our grasp is not firm
And it scampers away again
Only to tiptoe near as we're about to give up
Leaning down to whisper in our ear

"Don't give up.
I'll come for you.
You just have to wait."

But love is a tricky being
It conceals and decieves
And waits for us to believe

Waits for us to fall head over heels
For us to smile and laugh
And for us to give our hearts

And when we do
Love steals our hearts and keeps them for its own

And so we sit and we wait
For what we now know

Its name is Love and its form is stolen hearts