Moonlight, starlight; potatoes and potato blight.
Green grass, high tides, slow dance and fast rides.

Vagabonds and crooked teeth, clear eyes and oceans of life, unite under one house; one house with many banners.
Fists crack soundlessly, agelessly. Steps flex against the thin strips of time.

This is a time for us.

A time to love without a care, exact one-shot courage-- Revenge. 
To be a disciple without a cause. A Godless rebel, all under your gauze.
Scabs etched by wishful thinking, drugs and drinking. Children of no great calamity, breathing in the dawn dew of summer. 

Warrior hair in your eyes, no one can ever quite grab it. 
Much in your despicable nature and just as much, you despise.
Blood and steel-- much flaunting, warping stern and keel. 
You are a vessel as much as I.
As much as all this dirt.

"Th'day you die issa day you yield," but to yield is to love, affront, and appeal. 
Only so much grit you can collect,
in your tear ducts-- the eye's regret.
Your flimflam of stolen boot valor,
Trechers' smile, bent-t'steel pallor.
A time for us. 

A watch for the hangman that always gets left behind,
its spindling quartz is our chorus, and our only savior.
our romantics' smoke spreads, parted lips crack.
Only one of us left dead.
A time for us.