Body:
      Pinups and post adolescent boys screaming turbulence
strung out in my room, days for ever growing more jaded
what ever that means, surely these things, will rip my heart out
get back to my head, share anything, better make my head feel still

     Reading in  the blue light that is a broken hearted city passing by
  without it all , skylines for side views, heading south, away from it
when will it all mean surely nothing, will it rip my head out
get back to my bed, share anything, better make  my bed feel here


     Thankful for all the things i get wrong that i still feel in the day
  you out there, somewhere doing good , filling the world with so much hope
where age means nothing, and you can marry me, and stay the same- beautiful
money where it does not mean a thing, money make the world turn , anything

    
      Closure seeking itself in the open flatlands of an opaque remembering scheme
  this is him in his prime, waiting for me with the open hands of a martyr stinging
when will  you separate the screams from the hit on key singing of angels of sorts
foxes in the court room dancing during the sweeping, over papers left behind foxes