Now this valentine seems so empty and cold, and no one loves you when you’re a ghost.      Now you better get used to it – seeing your own baby’s name in his mother’s writing. And does the desert make you feel taller? Can you trade a name for a number?      Before you even and went and found the clothes to try to make your graduation robe, you were wondering what would match your gun – the kind of things you’d like to hide from us.       And now the company, it comes to halt. Why doesn’t anyone believe in us? 538 wrapped in flag, doesn’t really count as coming home.      Telephone sympathy sighs, funeral home vacation time.       I died on television.