Simplified notions of red, blue and white. We catch our breath as a year of reconstituted glory slams into the financial debt systems of our souls. We live. We control. We sip out of our bowls. The tainted smiles are overgrown milk moustaches that are now climbing the walls around. We search for the truth. It gets harder to find the older we grow. The bullets have all landed and we search for the sky. We close our eyes and think of days gone by, the mooing of the cows in the pasture and Granny's apple pie. We lay by the light of the moon and put coins in our banks of love. We struggle with the here and now. The battle cries out for our new beginning and a day of rest. Resolution is a bitter affair. We conquer ideas to make light of our days. We grow beards and such to hide our emotions. We walk around in circles all day long. We sing a song. We count the notes of silence in between the harmony of our lives. We pray. We color our coffee with bittersweet and vanilla yesterdays. We want to play on the sidewalks again, but our hopscotch drawings are faded by rain: truth and comments.