Looking up at the passing clouds. The planes are low on fuel; they're crashing down. It's never quite the same the second time around. Shadows passing faces walking through the crowds.
Voices in your head things that you should have said.
Smiles faded; the past rang true. Sweating collars and ties hang loose. Mounting the courage to climb your stoop, the flowers forgotten, the boy - he grew.
And faceless angels said, "we feel much better now our lives are spent"
