When the dance floor’s full all the kids look so beautiful. When the dance floor’s full all the kids look indivisible. The disremembered stars of architectural disasters. The disremembered stars as bright and lost as fireflies in jars. Do you really want to stay amongst these starving stowaways? Do you really want to stay lost? When the dance floor clears, I take a pack of matches as a souvenir. When the dance floor clears, I walk home alone with their voices still in my ears. The ghosts of dead teenagers sing to me while I am dancing. They’re sad and young, and they’ll be sad and young forever. And I cry until I throw up.