Next door they think they know us
Since that day the window was open

And my voice carried and maybe a door
Or two slammed. Another day, we'd had some

Beers in the backyard, and we were counting
Stars, or maybe we were singing Johnny Cash

Songs from memory because we'd heard The Man
In Black had died, and we were so sad, sad

The way you get when you're finally out
Of beer, and there's so many stars that counting

Them all starts to feel like your goddamn job
On a cold, lonesome Monday morning.

Volume 2, Issue 1, 2007