311 And Falling Fasters

Damn you Steven Paul Smith, the name wasn't that bad, and the terminal comes rushing up soon enough for all of us, without jumping from the plane. Too soon gone, for some, not gone soon enough, for others; and call it Evil or Good or whatever you want, but you know exactly what I mean. Babies with the Big C, babies in the burn wards, babies in the closets and in the basements dark. Don't tell me we're mostly Good, I don't know what that means. I know how it feels, but don't tell me it's as simple as all that; we're capable of anything, and usually one after another in both directions, at any time, anytime.
Not negative,
just how it is,
positive fear.
No fathers,
many sons,
ghosts all.