we'll correct collegiate mistakes.
a shower of formal ideals.
completely soused.
the hearts on our sleeves,
as they drowned we could hear them screaming,
"oh, what a tragic way to see our final days."

I attempt to talk up the town:
"the answers are in the arches of the 20th century towers
and in comfortable cars in motion."
and yet it still remains, this incessent refrain:
"you're just like the rest. you restlessness makes you lazy."

keeping busy is just wasting time
and I've wasted what little he gave me.
(all around) I know the conscious choice was crystal clear,
to clear the slate of former years:
when I sang softly in your ear and tied these arms around you.