Everything dies baby, that’s a fact.
But maybe everything that dies, someday comes back.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty,
and meet me tonight in Atlantic City.
Now our luck may have died and our love may be cold
but with you forever I’ll stay.
We’re goin’ out where the sands turnin’ to gold so put on your stockin’s cause the nights gettin’ cold
and maybe everything dies, that’s a fact.
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
crossed a river of salt just after I rode a ship that sunk in the desert
obsessed with blogging hurricane sandy stuff down the shore because my heart is still so broken.