I’ve heard that it’s quite acceptable and surprisingly fun.

Somebody force me to care.

Caught between the moon and New York City.

We all belong to everything.

Ain’t there a pen that will write before they die?

All my favorite places, my city had been pulled down.

I can develop my brooding potential.

Both of us searching for some perfect world we know we’ll never find.

Well, sometimes I love you on a Saturday night. Sunday morning, you don’t look right.

Tried to see your point of view, hope your dreams will all come true.