Thursdays are good to weekends

Sometimes the quiet roars louder than the music that is used to displace it in the first place.
It's like sitting on your bedroom floor packing your suitcase to go home for 2 weeks when no one is left. You know you have 2 hours until you are supposed to be at the airport and all you can do is cure yourself of a couple more minutes. All it takes it hearing that one song and you have already lost sight of what you were doing in the first place. As hard as you cough, you have a headache (or maybe a fever.) When I think about the tough obstacles I could face on the trek to the station, the last I think about is how tough it is to pull a suitcase through the snow.
I don't want you to know my name.

Out in the desert your thoughts are as clear as the stars. You feel golden. You're billion year old carbon.