Baked

I am getting ready to be cooked to give up on every YES WE CAN hope and go underground to where the bee's knees are pleasing and easing me into an early grave.  I hope that we can still be friends after all is said and done but something tells me that our motorcycle racings and dance party ravings are a distant past rather than a future potential.  Love can blossom and love can burn and love can cut a hole in the doughy bread baked heart of Your Eddie just as turly as it can burn down the future, just like that - a stray dropped match, a smokey bear's last nicotine cough.