the tipsy dance of ambivalence becomes the lasting moment we thought was chance.  we killed our dreams to believe in telepathy but it was pathetically lost to romance.  and where we go from this point forward was once written on a postcard but the times have changed and nothings the same - the words were true but the message you should disregard.  

and what you once became is now what you can’t remember.  and i find myself in the same place every december - the cigar smoke, the coughing clothes, the spaced out mind that no one knows.  the paper sheets become the ground under our feet and we draw what we walk with our footsteps as the beat.  Somehow it’s deafening.  

passive tones become our new home and the greetings we used before are now goodbyes.  everyone that was once familiar is now just a passerby.  so now we look to the moon to tell us noon, even as a lie.  no wonder we say we’re trying to catch each other while we lie awake at night.  

i’ll believe what I think til my blood turns to gasoline - or deny everything while smiling for the guillotine.  you got the best of me and though I can barely breathe - I’m still standing and never made it to my knees.  So keep your eyes on the great machine even though I can guarantee it will never give you what you need. just don't share the dream if you can't make it mean anything.