She picks up a pen. Writes down a word. It doesn't feel right. . The novelty's gone. The novel rolls on. Until it's goodnight. . Will anyone read. Much less understand.
There was a half a harvest moon up on the hillside. Our love is made almost entirely of downside. Who would have thought it could feel so much better then?.
We had a smoke on the water. We laughed for all it was worth. And I called out your name but. You didn't say what you heard. . We drove home in silence.