The lights stopped at eleven and the TV clicked to black
we mumbled complaint choruses and claimed old technology back
candles on the corners, river of brittle wax
conversations on vocations. awful choices made when we were relaxed
and it was too late to mention our uptight state of mind
had slipped into the evening like our sense of time
Three old friends from childhood gathered in the dark
sitting in a circle swapping memories and strumming guitars
then dry eyes barely moving, limbs that long since stopped
ground down like the hands of the shadowed living-room clock
was it too late to mention that all that we recalled
had long since passed like candles in the hall?
In a more perfect world, this band would blaring out of every radio on Earth. The lyrics, the vocals, the just-outta-teens snark and earnestness... so much to love. paulimboden
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