The setting sun wants to find a cure for all that ails the world. It flirts with tombstones to raise the dead. The setting sun is tired of being a noose for day’s end. It’s a thousand pounds of sorrow in a size five shine. The setting sun is tired of all the poems and songs written about it. It just wants to be left alone in a sea of stars. The setting sun asks if it can borrow fifty bucks for a ticket outta town. Wants to trade its miracles for a few moments of peace. The setting sun sinks so low. The setting sun sinks so low. Looks like it’s on its knees praying for the moon.