Out in the woods behind the parking lot, a rusty moon begins its fall. Papers burn and shadows take shape, orange lights decorate the city-scape. Through the mud, I trudge on. Past the branches with open arms and the stars, who never asked for a damn thing, are only asking for my company tonight. Holding out for a spark, crying “have a heart!” I’m coming home, I’m coming home. Running blind through the dark, yelling “oh my god!” I’m coming home, I’m coming home. Rain’s striking pavement in the lightning storm and Jane’s screaming on the telephone, the sky grows bright as the tree line recedes and the wind rips across my cheek.