There are days when we feel like we're getting written out of our own stories, like we're going to be killed off and we can't stop the ink from draining our blood out. We don't feel the pain of it, just the twilight fading into us like a false hug. We find the red and orange lights turning white and then gray, finally to black. We're penniless, like we thought we'd be when the time came. We're mostly alone -- or we're at least comforted that we're not taking anyone with us, dragging them down. Some of these days feel like letting go and some of them feel like an ambush.
Nashville band Blank Range writes songs that speak to the ghosts that appear at night. They write songs that make you believe solemnly that the futility of such things aren't to be mourned, but explored. Picking oneself up from getting flattened on the street and heading right back to that bar to close your tab is the way to go. There might even be more to the evening, before closing time hits, than originally thought. No one's buried you yet so you should think about lusting for things you like to lust for just a little longer. You should think about smoking some meat and contemplating why you were spared for another day.