we’ve all painted pictures of the only past we’ve known and the further we get the more we grow, the more we turn to stone in memorial of all the colors we once wore. all lives were once upon a time. we’ve all drawn lines from the past to remind that lives intersect. that all souls are lost. that we’ve all seen through the eyes of the poet, the preacher, the pariah, and admired the inherently hopeless romance in each our faded past. all to remember to press through cool calamity where saints and angels sing in the name of god on the radio.