Our own private Vegas...
with only a piano on its floor and four stark walls closing it in.
Walls so bare without even a clock.
The bench and the chair aren't much to sit on and there's a door that won't lock...
There's window gawking, and cock-blocking, maybe even a critic or two...
With all this there's an unexplainable yet wonderful charm.
It's a feeling of wrong but you know that it's right.
The type that you feel on a hot Vegas night, when you just want to look and see each others lights.
For the sake of that feeling it's our own private Vegas where time stands still as we move on to many new realms and auras of sight.
Blasting in too many directions to count like stars in the night.
Like ticks of the clock in this temporal rift, we found thoughts and portrayals of life's greatest gift.
The casks of despair couldn't dampen the feeling we feel in this breathable air.
Breathing it in we taste fate as it shifts again with this new found friend.
Our own private Vegas.
Where we both hope to win.