| Current mood: |  groggy |
| Current music: | Aimee Mann-Par for the Course |
improv.
The wind makes the leaves dance
around in circles; taunting midnight drivers.
Bending backwards, twirling through air;
taunting jealous dancers.
Being free, themselves; taunting
struggling writers.
The wind gains force from all
of the resentment.
Knocking down electric wires,
plunging neighboorhoods into darkness.
Bringing that 6th sense of fear,
tingling up the nape of their necks.
Tonight's the night.
Tonight's the night.
Tonight's the night.
Ring around the rosie,
pocket full of poses,
ashes, ashes, we all fall
DOWN.
Ashes, ashes, ashes of
our loved ones that once
walked along our deserted paths long
before we were ever born.
I came to them with a flower,
singing my song off tune,
and I was stopped by them.
They knew not of appriciation
on that cool spring night
when the wind stirred up
anger in the heart of so many
unhappy with themselves.
Tonight's the night.
Tonight's the night.
TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT,
WE ALL FALL DOWN.
The man in the moon
Looked out of the moon
And this is what he said,
"Tis time that, now I'm getting up,
All babies went to bed."
The man in the moon
looked out from his place,
unto the greedy earth below him.
All of the dancers, and writers, and drivers,
spreading their pessimism
wider and farther;
longer and more painful.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall...
down.
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