The cool night was low on our age of sixteen

We were broken into youth, dropped into our dresses

Smooth and aggressive, triumphant and wonderfully queer

I remember you by the beach seeing through my vapor’s eye

Your alien palms white like chalk on the sidewalk

Into the black holes of frustration in my sheets

We took our hands, snuck around lighted streets

Brought our years to the table, learning and smuggling

Through the gutters and past my mother’s screams

Past our ankles blew the breeze small and dreaming

Dumbed down, filthy and pretty, we were really on a roll

Oh! How I took pride in your tender cries

Guitar in hand you’d sing of your Death

The shades of your hair suspended from dark highs

Saw you as the only one, as you saw me too,

I must’ve known what you meant in your Song

When I froze downstairs, crying at your glittering feet

Anger and confusion were the life of our days

Now you sit at your piano, mumbling of your Death

Playing quiet notes, the meaning has changed in your Song

I stand backstage, your Song empties me in my bed

The sound of true despair is not music but a noise

That of certainty like a screech in a dead garden

Nothing is as real as before, but there’s no confusion

You looked at me and I really looked

Helpless and tired but not hopeless

‘Cause plenty of breezes have we both taken

Now, not one kick in the beating white light