In this air of separation, there's no song in my head, no light in my street, it's dark and it's cold, and the dogs have slept. It's different than how it was. An untuned guitar with and a long long walk, empty posters, and closed windows. But just before it's 12, someone tells me it's 31st, it's 31st and then you cross my head, and the entire journey to make it up to you. I look across my shirt to find some chalk, I look up at the sky to see some clouds, then to the empty parking lot right up to the tennis lawns. The shirt is clean, the sky is empty, there's no rain, there's no rain, it's 12 on a 31st and there's no you, there's no me either like there's no us. happy birthday.. allz well now..
