remember back in Brooklyn late nightsnnwe’d sneak up on the roof with flashlightsnnlie on our backs and count the starsnnnnwe’d talk all night about god and spaceshipsnnand little laika, the first in orbitnnand whether or not there might be life on marsnnnnit used to be easy then to dreamnnit’s getting harder and harder to believe in anythingnnnncause there’s nothing holding the stars up in the skynnno reason or rhyme to this lifennnothing keeping us together you and inn‘cept you and inni think a heart is what you make of itnnit’s not love if it doesn’t hurt a bitnnif we just hold on tight we’ll get through thisnnyou and i, i still believe in you and innnnyou used to hold my hand all the timennyou’d get your fingers all laced through minennlike New York city streets through the avenuesnnnnup was up and down was down back thennnthe world was ours and everything made sensennwe believed and we never needed proofnnnnbut baby i’m giving up on “meant to be”nni’m starting to think that all of that is just pretty poetrynnnncause there’s nothing holding the stars up in the skynnno reason or rhyme to this lifennnothing keeping us together you and inn‘cept you and inni think a heart is what you make of itnnit’s not love if it doesn’t hurt a bitnnif we just hold on tight we’ll get through thisnnyou and i, i still believe in you and innnnthere’d be no such thing as fate if it were up to menngo and leave the future to its mysterynnwe can make itnnnnif there’s nothing holding the stars up in the skynnno reason or rhyme to this lifennnothing keeping us together you and inn‘cept you and innwell then a heart is what you make of itnnand it’s not love if it doesn’t hurt a bitnnif we just hold on tight we’ll get through thisnnyou and I, i still believe in you and i