and he'll commemorate this mourning, all holy spirits feared. with the blood of all his vagrants, in his glass revered. a toast to all the angels in the ink of all their prayers. to lives we've left behind, three cheers. they loved us all despite our vices. last call, for all the blessed bare.
the truly missed connection is always spoken softly, in capital tones of regret. the scene is only set by separate parties, living lives resemblant in parallel lines. enough to cross the stars in only crossing someone's mind. holding on to time. objectified by the taste held close on baited breath. wasted on those all alone least favorite days, when waking up is a prayer, and I swear that just one more truth in a year of lies would be the one that changed forever both our lives. catch your breath. and in a second let your present catch up to your past, and realize that all the things that have passed you by are the same things that delivered yourself to you. true to form, that high and lonesome cry.