Modest Mouse orbited by the Radiohead

By the time things begin to make sense
it's time to sleep.
It's time to let the world do it's work without me.

I'd like to remain conscious long enough
to say one thing,
just one more thing
before the sun rises,
before the sun ruins
sight for sore eyes.
I told her it's easier,
it's easier to see in the dark.
She said she didn't get it.
I told her to look up.
Look up.

Those are my friends up there,
those, the ones exploding
so much,
so much larger than us all.
I told her
those are my friends up there
and once a second
one explodes with the sort of force
that would be unpoetic to discuss.
listen hard enough,
just listen.
The sound is not the ear is not the source.

The sound is a history
A history of violence,
A history of epic proportions,
A history,
calling out to the little creatures,
the ones with the hearts beating.

Every 60 million degrees
and a critical point is reached.

Every once in a while
the little ones can look up
and see what they're made of.

ghosts burning ash into life.

We are simply
the dreams of stars.

We are.
simply.
the little ones
the ones with beating hearts
born to burn away slowly--

We save the explosions for the titans.