Fifty pin steel arrangements, you think I�ve gone softcore. It�s boring out the blues in the fluffy bits of snow cascading shy-like down. I�m having a game of it, dodges soulless cold lint, aquatic space discomfort. Shabby, flabby Friday, mocking me once more. Fifty pin-steel arrangements, you think I�ve gone softcore. All there is to the sky is blue and gray like watercolor saturating the clouds and it�s a frosty blanket just dismally hanging it�s tapestry over us. My thoughts keep floating up and getting stuck in it, it�s black comedy cotton candy. I keep forgetting I�m supposed to be working, my head is dizzy and weary and drags itself like calamity staggering rusted towards the sea. The sea is the abyss, the abyss is the temptation for a voyage, the voyage, has been lost at sea.
"It�s this melancholy holding me down
I�ve got cheapseats for this show
But the sign says �occupied� not �reserved�
Because I�m not allowed to go."
I do at least have some plans tonight to go and see some friends bands play. A usual Friday night here doesn't look much different from any other night of the week.
