Did I write to offer a benediction? Did I write? No. And if I can't be happy for you, or anyone, it's because anyone might have done what you've done.
Do you recall our aimless terror before the cul-de-sacs and malls, we, the worried well, with aught but the songs that we'd sung and the naked idea that we could be the flint to fire a soul where we feared we'd find none?
Do you think that we were wasting our time? Well I'm still wasting my time trying to write, from hollow days, a brilliant night.
Did I write to offer a benediction? Well should I have? I suppose I should. 'Cause if you can find the meaning in a family or career then you've found peace in ways I never thought we would.
But I hope you know you're still wasting time, and I hope that you're still wasting your time. 'Cause I'm still wasting my time trying to write, from hollow days, a brilliant night.
I hope that you're still wasting your time, and I hope you hope I'm still wasting my time.
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