No matter how slow it turns

At least I'll know one thing better than the other things I know: everything I touch turns to shit... yet there are other anti-Midases out there whose tactile-fecality far outweighs mine. To all my friends and to the last outposts of decency. I can only wish the lesson learned is truly ingrained. We always liked to believe that we'd come full circle. Sometimes the circle angulates into a square. Sometimes that curveball hits you in the nuts. It's quarter past three in the morning. Perspective has reared its ugly head. We're gonna enjoy the last moments of sweet Sara, Emily, and Stephanie's company whilst we imbibe our liquid friends. The suicide's on 24 hour Texan death watch. Tomorrow belongs to us and it belongs to you too baby, once the pain subsides.