Pop the cork, a champagne glass. Raise to the future, drink to the past. Thank the Lord for the friends he cast. In the play he wrote for you. . And if you love the girl, man, light up a torch.
You grew up thinking you knew her. Nothing could keep you apart. You remember nothing peculiar. She always spoke from the heart. . You took your parents' religion.
Seven times I traced your number. Just one finger to your voice. Seven times I put the receiver down. Seven times I tried to write you. But I cannot make your choice.
I tried to frame my own self portrait. Into a three-minute one-act play. But I'm a carnival of voices. It's hard to pin me down that way. Without my subconscious saying.