Strings
The Combine:
Is the tragic light at 3:00 am on a Thursday night that blazes a taunting red onto my dashboard. Not a soul on the road but me, and yet, I stop just the same. It is the rules that keep some of my possibilities imprisoned. My parents, the "natural course" of a college-bound student. The routine of vanity each morning in front of my bedroom mirror. Each day the performance for an audience numb to violence and jaded with false ideals of beauty. The gates neighborhoods with relegations providing a false sense of security. Is the traffic light......Is the traffic light.......is the traffic light........Is the traffic light....it's money over words, it's appeal over feeling. Is the traffic light.....is the traffic light....I'm sitting and looking at the clock. Its 12:30 and I'm not tired. Yet I feel that I should go to bed. So I go, and toss and turn a bit until I succumb to the pretense that I should be dreaming by now.
Is the tragic light at 3:00 am on a Thursday night that blazes a taunting red onto my dashboard. Not a soul on the road but me, and yet, I stop just the same. It is the rules that keep some of my possibilities imprisoned. My parents, the "natural course" of a college-bound student. The routine of vanity each morning in front of my bedroom mirror. Each day the performance for an audience numb to violence and jaded with false ideals of beauty. The gates neighborhoods with relegations providing a false sense of security. Is the traffic light......Is the traffic light.......is the traffic light........Is the traffic light....it's money over words, it's appeal over feeling. Is the traffic light.....is the traffic light....I'm sitting and looking at the clock. Its 12:30 and I'm not tired. Yet I feel that I should go to bed. So I go, and toss and turn a bit until I succumb to the pretense that I should be dreaming by now.