Saturday

I'm good to go and I'm going nowhere fast.
It could be worse I could be taking you there with me.
I'm good to go...but it looks like I'm still on my own.

I'm good to go for something golden, though the motions I've been going through have failed.
I'm coasting on potential towards a wall at a hundred miles an hour.

When I say...

Two more weeks, my foot is in the door.
I can't sleep in the wake of saturday.
Saturday, when these open doors were open ended.

Pete and I said attacked Astoria with promise and precision and mess of youthful innocence.
I read about the afterlife, but I never really lived more than an hour.