We would build rockets not because we had nothing else to do at 3 AM, but because we wanted to see things fly away. Something that we made, with our own hands. We loved to watch the rocket fuel burn as it sparked, then propelled those rockets into the cold night sky. We would soon lose sight of them, but something about them falling into someone else's grasp made us feel good inside. We knew we weren't leaving. The thing about the Dead End Kids is that we don't really go anywhere. But we do enjoy every piece of land we conquer. We may leave, but we will always come back. Because this is our home, our ghosts still roam these streets.
His ghost will roam these streets until I can no longer remember them. For a minute we were the kings of our existence. We were invincible.
Will proved that to be immature. We aren't invincible. We get severely and fatally hurt. We are human, not robots, not machines. We are fragile.
It would be really nice to see my big brother right now, but he is ashes and enjoying Heaven. I can only selfishly wish he were here.
Sing.
Migrate.
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