Nothing Doesn't Sting

But it doesn't feel good, either.
It's more like a story than a person.
If you've traveled,
You may have felt a difference in your happinesses,
In a basement coolness.
Nothing plays a part in those transformations.
When you go from day to night there’s bound to be some suffering.
People talk about love songs and dislocation.
But the floor still pounds against feet,
Delivering not one answer.
A hair will singe when held against a match
That’s just gone out.
If you can get inside of that,
You might catch a glimpse of Nothing.
Lights and music.
Bums, mannequins, and cigarettes.
Who wouldn't clap for Nothing?
From ear to ear, from person to person,
Nothing treks like a stranger through every town.