standing on the edge of the Palisades' Cliffs in the shadow the skyline it seemed very far away like a lightning rod that couldn't pull the storm from me - when I was five years old, my best friend's older brother died. he fell from these cliffs and the river washed him away, the current pulled him downstream and our lives float in the headlines. so we park these cars in our parents' garage to listen to the lullaby of carbon monoxide: war all the time in the shadow of the New York skyline. we grew up too fast now we're falling like the ashes of American flags. if the sun doesn't rise, we'll replace it with an H-bomb explosion. a painted jail cell of light in the sky like three-mile-island nightmares on TVs that sing us to sleep. they burn on an on like an oil field or a memory of what it felt like to burn on and on and not just fade away. all those nights in the basement, the kids are still screaming, "on and on and on and on..............." and we're blowing in the wind. we don't know where to land so we kiss like little kids- we used to be very tall building but we've been falling for so long. now your eyes are a sign on the edge of town, they offer a welcome, when you are leaving. when the pieces fall it's like a last-day parade and the fires in our streets start to rage so wave to those people who long to wave back from the fabric of a flag that sang Love all of the time.