one of the good ones


Every street is dark and folding out
mysteriously
Where lies the chance we take
to be...
Always working,
Reaching out for
a hand that we can't see...
Everybody's got a hold on hope.
It's the last thing that's holding me.



Look at the talkbox in
mute frustration,
At the station,
There hides the cowboy--
His campfire flickering
on the landscape
That nothing grows on,
But time still goes on,
And through each life of misery:...
Everybody's got a hold on hope.
It's the last thing that's holding me.
-guided by voices.

Someone gave me one of the kindest and most meaningful compliments of my life tonight.
I think I shall spend the rest of my life striving to make it true.