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lyrics
Twelve o' clock, December the thirty-first,
All we were before dissolved and dispersed,
Like a dream where you're flying,
Caught in the wind, and now you're falling back down to the earth.
Overcast in an orange glow,
Hopes are dashed, to ash like falling snow.
We teeter toward catastrophe,
Now the masterpiece is
Only the sound of our pulse in our ears-
This year was gonna be my year.
January first, in a purple dawn,
Still the smoke from summer fires lingers on,
Through the arbitrary barriers
Separating where we're going from where we were,
Like a miracle, or short reprieve,
Or a contract only signed by we the aggrieved,
To terms we only half-believe-
Pop the cork on distant vintages' echoes of cheer,
Next year is gonna be my year.
credits
released December 18, 2020
Written, produced and performed by Andy Klosenski
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