Where is the
point of no return on this
road of riches made from rags,
refunds for our excessed bags,
us two existential fags?
We flash warning signals, giving
tingles, yet we mingle with our
eyes on this path, looking
to make love last, so why
run away if the best may indeed
come? But if we
sit and stay, will it lead to our doom? I can-
not say what the result of the
race will be, but I need to see, and
more so, need to run it with you.