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Well it rains and it pours when you're out on your own If I crash on the couch can I sleep in my clothes? 'cause I've spent the night dancing I'm drunk I suppose If it looks like I'm laughing I'm really just asking to leave This alone you're in time for the show You're the one that I need I'm the one that you loathe You can watch me corrode Like a beast in repose 'cause I love all the poison Away with the boys in the band I've really been on a bender and it shows So why don't you blow me a kiss before she goes?
I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
Vincent Van GoghDer Spruch darf mit Autorenangabe frei verwendet werden, da die urheberrechtliche Schutzfrist abgelaufen ist († 29. Juli 1890) Zur Autorenbiographie
[...] being human is being a young child on Christmas Day who receives and absolutely magnificent castle. And there is a perfect photograph of this castle on the box and you want more than anything to play with the castle and the knights and the princesses because it looks like such a perfect human world, but the only problem is that the castle isn't built. It's in tiny intricate pieces, and although there's a book of instructions you don't understand it. And nor can your parents or Aunt Sylvie. So you are just left, crying at the ideal castle on the box which no one would ever be able to build.
You'll never be alone When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars Hear my whispers in the dark You'll never be alone When darkness comes You know I'm never far Hear my whispers in the dark
O wild and wondrous midnight, There is a might in thee To make the charmed body Almost like spirit be, And give it some faint glimpses Of immortality.
James Russell LowellDer Spruch darf mit Autorenangabe frei verwendet werden, da die urheberrechtliche Schutzfrist abgelaufen ist († 12. August 1891) Zur Autorenbiographie
How did it get so late so soon? It's night before it's afternoon. December is here before it's June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?
I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.