It Was So Much Easier

You Deicde, And You Make Our Night What You Want. Brilliant And Ours. Stupid And Theirs.

It Was So Much Easier To Be Alone, If One Could Find Just The Right Location.

How Much Of Life Could He Spend Aching? Aching Is Not A Stable Condition; It Must Resolve Into Something

But Music Is, At The Very Minimum, Inflammatory, Exclusionary, Divisive, Encouraging Of Snobbery And Solipsism.

He Fell In Love With Manhattan's Skyline, Like A First-time Brothel Guest Falling For A Seasoned Professional. He Mused Over Her Reflections In The Black East River At Dusk, Dawn, Or Darkest Night, And Each Haloed Light-in A Tower Or Strung Along The Jeweled And Sprawling Spider Legs Of The Brooklyn Bridge's Spans-hinted At Some Meaning, Which Could Be Understood Only When Made Audible By Music And Encoded In Lyrics.