You don’t have to love me. You already did.

I usually split the Fever era into these rough groups in my mind for Brendon's onstage looks...

August – November 2005:

(the vibe is just dressy girl's pants, grandpa shoes, and any dress shirt + tie)

December 2005:

(the blazer was frequently abandoned, but it existed)

January – March 2006:

(same vibe but add paisley ties)

April 2006:

May 2006:

June – July (+ August 1-4):

August:

(the pants had a paisley print)

October:

November – early December 2006:

misc December 2006:

Cricket and Clover lyrics written by Ryan Ross of Panic! At The Disco from the lost cabin album

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I have crickets living with me

Little chirping limbs are coaxing

me to see you can’t be lonely

when crickets live inside your clothing

crickets living in my coat sleeves

little chirping limbs are coaxing

me to see I must be the one

to have you be the one

who loves me

I suppose if there were no reason

it wouldn’t be my coat they sing in

because crickets hold no intent

of being loved or being lucky

and I am both from what you’ve shown

so feather fingers if I am truly

made of one million glowing constellations

then I think I owe it to you to

try to be every hallucination

you see in me

thank you feather fingers for

believing there is more out

here than what we’re seeing

that there is more than just a canvas ceiling

hanging above our heads with no meaning

for reminding me the sun will come,

just when we think it has given up

and that it truly is enough

to be alive and be in love

for being the reason the birds

keep singing and for being

what the sky’s been needing

what you see in me are just hallucinations

I know it’s you who are the glowing constellations

I’m only reflecting your perfections

I know I’m lucky, feather fingers

——————————————————————————-

I feel as if I’m a figurine.

I feel like something on strings,

posed by loves fragile fingers

and possessed by a frantic

fluttering in my chest.

I am renewed. I am not of

rags or of scraps. Pristine…

I am something velveteen.

the charcoal clouds have finally

finished spitting on me

concentrating instead on painting a

faithful portrait splashed across

the canvas of the wine read

heavens. You are draped across

a vast daffodil cream.

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