It's 9:38 P.M.
It's going to be another night for the profound,
I'm in that same darkened room,
Same kitchen light,
Cigarette smoke not quite filling the room yet.
But it shall soon, because I can already tell it's going to be one of those nights.

The sandman apparently forgot to visit, for my eyes are still fresh and new.
Getty Lee is jumping from the speakers,
The anthem is long and blue.
He's telling me about the protagonist of the story,
He had just discovered a relic of the past,
It's potential for destruction could not be more true.
Of how he takes his own life,
To hide away the weapon he had stumbled upon,
To ensure its location could never be pried from his mind.

I think of old buddies from the Army,
The shenanigans we'd get into,
Of times both bad and good.
It's when I do this that I really smoke cigarettes,
Or use chew, that was a bad habit from the Army, but I'm quitting that.

Neil Peart is thundering out a solo that imprints onto the inside of my skull.
I let the waves of sound wash over me.