Pistols at dawn when you worry yourself sick before you're even born.

You'll paint and the paint will run and you'll wait  until one day the waiting is done and you're blind because you stared to long at rhe sun and  the paint will still run until the waiting is done.

I wallpaper wallflowers into Ivory Towers and plant pots in which tomatoes will grow and the night slices in with that lopsided grin and a belch to let you know that its here.

I dream I'm in Venice with a girl who points out the dangers of playing catch me and we're not even strangers

what's it all about?

if I never knew
if it couldn't be
when you're blinded by the sun
and you're four miles out at sea

what's it all for?

Thursdays are deep days
the days when we keep days
as days to remember.