Counting lines that cross my face and moving objects into place. I’ll never make it through so I’ll make a deal with you - let me drink your wine and waste your time and whatever I’ve got I’ll give to you. We’ve just got to wait ‘til Spring and see what all it brings. I bleed like everybody else, you look like everybody else. We’ll breathe this toxic air and pretend not to care. If we can conquer Bleeker Street I know we’ll land right on our fucking feet. We’re just walking home through an empty lot. We’ll take the world on – the year that I’ve had think it’s worth a shot. I’m writing over days better left forgot and navigating ways through a twisted plot. And we’re just walking home through an empty lot.