It's time to soar.
May your path take you down to a backwoods stomp, where the people
don't know your name.
Where the green card breaker and the cold stone maker can party without
any shame.
Meet the last of the whippied cream princess, greet the first of the
concrete man.
Catch yourself a little taste of paradise, catch the taste as much as
you can.
Break yourself down another bottle of wine as you're walking at a
creep.
Try to remember all the rosey times when you find you just can't sleep.
Place your bid on poverty on a dream you were never sold.
Just grasp your hand and smile sucker, for my words as good as gold.
Take another crack at the Yukon Jack as you try to drown your
sorrows.
Smile at the sky as you whistle for all those silver lined tomorrows.
Don't place your faith in miracles and other unworldly deeds.
Just wait until bad charity as the dark fantasy concedes.
by Anthony John Ciccariello III