A Long Enough Time Ago You tell me what's real by counting the hours, and I just find that odd -- all these places you're looking for god. You watch from the shadows, you feel the magic, you hear the music, but you don't see what you see. You check the clock or a book or some authority. Art creates reality. I cried about nothing. I cried about everything. I laughed all the way through to the end. All of it was real and needs no defense. You were the mime, and hence the pretense. And so in the end, it's you with the numbers, and you only count to one and count it forever and say sometimes it's fun. ~XineAnn