Little towns revive, then they choke. And failure is a turn-on in every farming small town I know.
We hate to be talked down to but we love it in song.
I won’t tell you it’ll be all right, I don’t know. But it gets better than this (well, not for certain, but it happens).
At 40 years old, sentimental songs can seem like ethical transactions.

Things have to fall apart some more before we know why we care or what we’re here for.
You have dressed yourselves for class war and I am wearing everything that I own.

This is ‘last call’, where are you going? Is there somewhere safe you can stay?
I make you laugh and you make me laugh,
and I know that we both feel like we are parodies of God.

The airwaves are full of no one like us, of models who brag. Isn’t it strange we’re inspired by these people so rich and loud, and so perfect, saying they’ve won?

Day 1: We can do better than this (I’m trying harder to believe it…)

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