You Need The Noise Of Your Friends

I Looked At Her, And She Was Smiling Like She Was Broken.

The Sky Was As Blue As A Stupid Postcard, And The Islands Were As Green As Islands.

We Are The Nation Of Dreams. We Are Seers. We Are Wizards. We Speak In Visions. Our Letters Are Like Flocks Of Doves, Released From Under Our Hats. We Have Only To Stretch Out Our Hand And Desire, And What We Wish For Settles Like A Kerchief In Our Palm. We Are A Race Of Sorcerers, Enchanters. We Are Atlantis. We Are The Wizard-isle Of Mu.

Perhaps His Gloom Was Due To His Profession, That He Lived Among Fallen Empires, And In Reading These Languages That Had Not Been Spoken By The Common Man In Centuries, He Had All About Him The Ruin Of Language, Evidence Of Toppled Suburbs, Grass Growing Among The Mosaics, And Voices That Had Been Choked With Poison, Iron, Age, Or Ash.

My Idea Of Life, It's What Happens When They're Rolling The Credits.