Rally

Hook up with me, meet at the rally
Follow the shouting, I am longing for you Hook up with me, meet at the rally I waited so long, I couldn't find a cause Tired or wasted I think you're decent I waited so long, there'll be no decency no

Meet? Shall we meet? Come on, tonight--let's meet. I waited--have waited--am waited--weighted--waiting. I waited for the decency to disappear--for the decency to evaporate so we could meet--encounter one another. Come on, tonight?

(don't you give me those)
Shifty eyes pay attention
Dirty talk talk talk quiet
Just as long as you're gone
It won't happen at all

No, not those. Don't look at me. Don't shift yourself back in forth in front of me. Come and meet me--let the dirty talk transpose us into a silence wherein neither of us speaks and neither of us listens. Let's go somewhere me and you don't exist, so we can meet. I know it won't happen . . . but, tonight? Come on, tonight?

Remember the time we talked about everlastings?
Don't you know we'll both fall to pieces too?
April 22nd at the Avalon, you teased me
Hook up with me, meet at the rally

Yes, always the talk about everlastings--about infinite and it all. Yes, after a couple of bottles and a nice long look at the stars or the ocean . . . talking about the everlasting . . . You want everlasting without falling to pieces? I don't know about any of that. I've tried it before, with an embarrassing amount of success. Come on, no more of this--of this everlasting business--just meet me. Come on, tonight? You and I into a we? Where? Shall we rally?

Don't go away we're so near
Look around, you see
There is nothing to say but the things I know I got nothing to say but the things I know

Look, there is nothing else? Nowhere else to be? Nowhere else to take you to the nowhere. There is nothing to say--I don't want to talk anymore, clarify anymore, ruminate anymore, try anymmore--I know there is nothing to say but nothing. All I can say is what I know and I know nothing.

Standing in line, I think you're pretty
Lying on your bed, I think you're pretty too Young girl curl your hair at night Hook up with me, meet at the rally

Standing in line . . . always standing in line . . . one of us is always in line . . . waiting . . . waiting for our turn . . . waiting for the time . . . waiting for the time to come when we meet . . . standing in line, still, you are so pretty--so majestically pretty--come on, tonight? Curl your hair, put on your shoes, and a grab a hat for the cold--let's rally--let's meet.

Moments; always moments; only moments

Stopping and listening to both of us breathe, I wish this moment wasn't a moment. I feel it—so do you—I know you do—that point where we are indistinguishable—where I am mixed with you and you with me—where neither of us knows where the other begins and where the “me” stops. There is no “me” here; there is only a both of us. Feeling that space where the indiscretion of us both equals an infinity unstrapped by the dimensions of time; where the infinite shatters the temporal inside our convulsing bodies--where the infinite melds somewhere into the nowhere. Stopping, feeling the moment pass—feeling the blanket of eros that hid us from the world evaporate into the ceiling above us—and sighing in the intimacy and loneliness of time.