The room is small
Like a small square in the fabric of time that is my life
Pink earplugs are being passed out
I put them in a solemn look glued to my face
I am a teenager insooth but I still have not seen a "concert"
The band plays and they sound like myspace
The garage of their bad accents floating into melodical English bells
The singer is putting on her face
and soon enough makes her big entrance
and my solemnity sits on me no longer
my childish shadow drops
I am now engulfed
This is the best thing ever
I want to hug the bang
I want to hug and talk to the singers
I love this feeling
of being a concert goer
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