Today the na na na's got in the way of the opps I wish I had different set of circumstantial evidence to live my life in. The tin can river boat is sinking in the puddle that is between me and my wildest nightmares. If only I would keep the good fight going. To arrive beyond the shadow when the peace will align itself without my pesky permissiveness. Totting flyers like they were fancy jewelry and hoisting my high-jinks to the mast top like an independent rocket ship slowly going the way of the radio. To feel the pain of lost love is to take the shot of possibility in the arm where it hurts the most. Look the moon in the face and tell him your stories because that man in there is an illusion and they always seem to understand. Midnight percentages let sleeping dogs lie like the filthy dogs that they are. Pencil in the waste and you will find room in the budget for the basket case.