9:40 to 6:40. What's in 3 hours? I've asked myself this time And time again. 3 hours is everything. I've seen blushing brides kiss their ivory goodbye Knees trembling, sweat pooled under beaded satin 3 hours is enough time to take a pill, or 20. Little pink and white advertisements, like a carnival "Eat me," they whisper. And you do, until it hurts. 3 hours is the concert that changed your life. It's a plane flight. Clouds race away from under you, leaving you with naught but a dead drop. The ghosts they leave leer, until wind chases them away. 3 hours is the lover you never expected to find you And the heartbreak that catalyzed a barbed-wire ribcage. You wonder why I worry about the time difference. 3 hours is everything. It's still light where you are, But I'm in the dark. Cavernous, empty and stale. What can light promise that darkness can't? 3 hours could be the coronation of a king, Or the end of an era. So you see, if that light hooks you, fills you You'll be brim-full, teeming, ablaze And there will be nothing, nothing in the dark No space for me--anyone--anything Savor those 3 hours, breathe them in But don't forget the dark that touched you first.