BLINK 182 - MISS YOU

Hello there
The angel from my nightmare
The shadow in the background of the morgue
The unsuspecting victim
Of darkness in the valley
We can live like Jack and Sally
If we want
Where you can always find me
And we’ll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we’ll wish this never ends
We’ll wish this never ends

(I miss you)
(I miss you)

Where are you?
And I’m so sorry
I cannot sleep
I cannot dream tonight
I need somebody and always
This sick, strange darkness
Comes creeping on so haunting every time
And as I stared I counted
The webs from all the spiders
Catching things and eating their insides
Like indecision to call you
And hear your voice of treason
Will you come home
And stop this pain tonight?
Stop this pain tonight

Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)
Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)

Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)
Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)

Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)
Don’t waste your time on me
You’re already the voice inside my head
(I miss you, miss you)

(I miss you, miss you)
(I miss you, miss you)
(I miss you, miss you)
(I miss you, miss you)

Celebrate the first national Poem In Your Pocket Day!

The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends on April 17.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find out about it until well past half-way through the day … but still, in honour of:

A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres
        to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor
        hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

  — Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892), American poet and essayist.