Foreign films broadcast on white walls taller than any building in this town and wider than the single road that leads in and out of here.  This night is ours, we created the smiles, we masterminded the plan that got this big little town to sing.  Building play sets out of wood and nails and concrete, giving the kids a place where hot lava monster comes alive.  Outside of these four broken walls and creaky steps that lead to the bedroom you grew up in, I'm reminded of a simple truth: home is here.  You point out your high school, the dumpsters by which you used to get high, the bar that served you your first beer at age 17 and never bothered for identification.  The rural highway outside of town that you crashed your dad's pickup on, and lied about it for three days until the truth came out.  The courthouse where your older sister was convicted for stealing toothpaste from the family run supermarket, which is still the only one in town.  This projection, bringing light to new lives that the people in this town could lead, was my idea.  The collective effort of the heart and soul that only a small community like this could posses was yours.  I could take the credit, but I'd rather watch you bow.

  Coeur de pirates - Comme des enfants by http://youtu.be/y0geyHa9H