It’s tough to be on stage, either half hearted or earnest. So they say, neither gives a fuck about reward.That’s what makes them so dangerous. Sliding along the thinning ice. Ordering one more beer before the National or Invermere Hotel burns. Leaving with your pants on fire. Half a drink teetering on glass edge, as if it was live or die. Salvation is out the window. Everybody is packing knives. Some of them couldn’t peal an apple. The days are getting longer. The tourists are travelling through the turnstiles. I’ve heard it before. The great advice, only worry about yourself. It all seems like bullshit. Mute on the skyline.