It was the morning of the Fourth of July and kids were lighting smoke bombs, sulfurous coils of red and green, the colors dense and bright like concentrated dye blooming through water.

[…] the silver flow Of Hero’s tears, the swoon of Imogen, Fair Pastorella in the bandit’s den, Are things to brood on with more ardency Than the death-day of empires.

Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night / I can see paradise by the dashboard light

He's the big bad wolf in your neighborhood / not bad meaning bad, but bad meaning good