Somewhere in the depths of New York City
Flowers get thrown, rice drops
I turn my head, there lies a sea of black and white, men and women, girls and boys
After receiving an invitation, I blindly attended
Who is the groom? Who is this bride?
In the heat of the sun, my tux is wet
Sweat drops from the brow of the best man, who doesn't know why he's there
In the shadow of St. Patrick's Cathedral, men and women pile into cars
Taxi's swarm by, completely oblivious to the soul-binding that just occurred
Two have become one. Or that's what I've been told.
He would sacrifice himself for her, and she would for him.
Or as he would for him, and she would for her. I don't really know who's getting married.
Something feels like in the celebration, we were all just married.
I ask myself what it takes to become married.
A piece of paper. A man who is clearly closer to God than myself.
I'm standing there on an alter, about to make some type of agreement.
Maybe a temporary agreement. A bargain, or something we share ground on,
A consensus.
But maybe this is my last agreement, a final wager toward my death. Something final,
In a world of never ending change.
I'm back in New York. More cheering has arose.
There they go, the bride and groom.
I'm pretty sure I've never seen them before, but but they smile at me as they pass anyways.
The flashing of camera's blinds me, as to sacrifice my sight for a piece of time that will be soon gone.
And which soon may be forgotten.
The happiest day of their life, captured in several hundred photographs.
A hunger in my stomach rumbles.
And it's because of this I attend the reception. I hope the cake's not chocolate.