The club can vote now, at eight

The birthday of our club tonight
Our musical cathedral
(And after eighteen years,
Realizing it's a Libra)

Then, after we've paid our dues,
We'll follow with some spooky tunes.

Dread and delight at eight

As we approach Halloween
A foreboding's in the air
Then, Novembers trick or treat
(You see what I did there?)

Leaves are falling at eight

I would not exactly call it
Some kind of celebration
But honoring those who've passed
Is really my intention
So many years without them
Does grant a kind of closure
And I can happily say
Their suffering is over

A toast to more tomorrows at eight

The longer it is you walk in the rain
The more likely that you'll get wet
I didn't know we would walk this long
Or just how far we would get
But, here we are, still doing this thing
Still hanging out at the same joint
And, I suppose, after so may years,
Let's hope this is just the half-point

Still wound up at eight

This work week was but four days
Of tribulations and trials
And it only reminds me
It's not the years but the miles

Making light of childhood fears at eight

Some songs about bombs
One bomb in particular
A bright flash: nothing

Well, why not? at eight

Last week, we tried to cover the earth
(And not with a paint or a stain)
But, as that went so well,
We're doing it again