There is no beginning to the story. A bookshelf sinks into the
sand
and a language learned and forgot, in turn, is studied once

again.
It's a shocking bit of footage viewed from a %#@!ty TV
screen.

You can squint through snowy static to make out the meaning.
Just keep on stretching the antennae, hoping that it will come
clear.

We need some reception, a higher message, just tell us what to
fear.
Because I don't know what tomorrow brings. It is alive with

such possibilities.
All I know is I feel better when I sing. Burdens are lifted from
me, that is my voice rising!

So Michael, please keep the tape rolling. Boys keep strumming
those guitars.
We need a record of our failures. We must document out love.

I have sat too long in my silence. I have grown too old in my
pain.
To shed this skin, be born again, it starts with an ending.

So thank you friends for the time we shared. My love stays with
you like sunlight and air.
Oh how I truly wish I could keep hanging around here but my joy

is covering me.
Soon, I will disappear.
It's not a movie, no private screening. This method acting,

well, I call that living.
It's like a fountain, a door has been opened. We have a problem
with no solution

but to love and to be loved.
So, I've made peace with the falling leaves. I see their same
fate in my own body.

But I won't be afraid when I am awoken from this dream and
returned to that
which gave birth to me. And the story goes on and on and on and

on.