Pocket Full of Change

With paychecks, new friends and the grace of good luck this will all work out fine. There are empty houses on the water. Relocate and settle, relocate and settle. And again. This is the song, played a thousand times until all sense and reason is lost to the inevitable madness of repetition. This is the basis for our wild, messy little shit show. We walk along the crowded thoroughfares of everywhere and nowhere, and though we come to places where our hands and feet can find purchase, we move on. Climbing up. Difference becomes familiarity; familiarity breeds contempt. Roll on.