In a grassy ditch,
lets lie on our backs
until its dark enough to pretend
we're in a meadow far away from here.
There's a skyline in the stars
and we're young and determined enough
to plan to get right to the edge
of the milky way
someday, when our hands
have held the other's for so
long that there's an imprint in the lines
so deep a psychic couldn't tell
us apart.

We are the heroes in a miniature
wasteland world and there's a fire
in your eyes when you look out
across our kingdom
and declare that
hell has never burned so bright.

Having a happy ending is still
an ending. We carry tender
little tragedies wherever we go, and hope
one day, we'll be
older than our bones.