ode to benny. "the imperfect". we'll dance in flowers, we'll play some oboes; even though you're allergic, and neither of us can play a note on those things. sneezing on flowers, sournoting on oboes; we never do anything right but at least we try. it sucks, doesn't it? that we're so interesting, but neither of us can do one single original thing. we have no talent, but we have good taste in music and a healthy love for colors. we'll shop for clothes, make fun of AA clerks; even though you have no style... but neither do the AA clerks. shopping for shit, laughing at red-haired, pubeybearded, purpleskinnyjean clerks; your clothes are all wrong, but at least you look better than him. it sucks doesn't it? that we're so simple, but neither one of us could ever say one single normal thing. we have no expressable poeticness, but sometimes we do, and when we do, it's usually beautiful. we'll cry on mattresses, we'll explain why stars aren't black; even though it's an expensive one, and our reasoning is purely childish. you crying over my lack of love for you, and me, for the pain of breaking a heart, but loving the way that stars are visible and twinkle happily. it sucks, doesn't it? that you love me so much, but i only love you in one single brotherly/sisterly way. we have no way of making eachother completely happy, but we still make eachother a good amount of happy, and we'll never be totally apart. "jump in the pool" by friendly fires.