Save Us (and Rock and Roll)

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

I'm here to collect your hearts
It's the only reason that I sing
I don't believe a word you say but I can't stop listening
This is the story of how they met
Her picture was on the back of a pack of cigarettes
When she touched him he turned ruby red
A story that they'll never forget
Never forget

And all the boys are smoking menthols
Girls are getting back rubs
I will drift to you if you make yourself shake fast enough
My old aches become new again
My old friends become exes again

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

I know I expect too much
And not enough all at once
You know I only wanted fun then you got me all fucked up on love
Oh I hoped for your name on the Ouija Board
And your naked magic, oh dear Lord
You and me are the difference between real love and the love on TV, love on TV

And all the boys are smoking menthols
Girls are getting back rubs
I will drift to you if you make yourself shake fast enough
My old aches become new again
My old friends become exes again, yeah

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

We were the kids who screamed
"We weren't the same, " in sweaty rooms
Now we're doomed to organizing walk-in closets like tombs
Silent film stars stuck in talking cinema life
So let's fade away together one dream at a time

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?


He's a dancer. A ballet dancer, to be more specific, as if specifics matter here. This is the story of how he met her. This is the story of how she destroyed him.

It began when he was a little boy. His best friend thought it would be fun. She suggested it and he just accompanied her. He was looking for fun, for an activity to do in his spare time. She lured him in. She is beautiful, with classical melodic music and sheer adrenaline.

It only took one performance for him to realize this is what he wanted to do. Running across the stage to Tchaikovsky, the smell of the floor and sweat, the darkness that surrounded everywhere he looked. The knowledge the spotlight was on him. It wasn't only on him. He was 6 years old and he was sharing the stage with 20 other little girls. He was the only boy. He didn't care. Even then, despite the sheer excitement and anxiousness, he remembered being annoyed. He didn't like sharing the stage. Beyond the annoyance, it was fun. Insanely, addicting fun. She was fun, at least back them.

He's 16 years old. He got to be the prince in Sleeping Beauty. His best friend dropped out way back when they were 9. He doesn't mind the bullying. He's heard every joke about boys and dancing, the ever funny jokes about being gay, about his tights, he doesn't care. He is different. He's spending each moment he has in that sweaty studio, he knows he's not the same, not like other teens. He doesn't care. He gets to be on stage, with the spotlight on him. He is flying, bursting through the stage. He is collecting people's hearts, slowly and surely.

People know about him and those who aren't busy telling him to pursue a different career, are telling him he'll be famous. They're telling him he has a future in the greatest ballet companies. They're inviting him to auditions.

He is perfect. He is in perfect shape. He doesn't remember the taste of chocolate or the last time he had a free afternoon but he doesn't care. He has ballet. He has the stage. He will forget everything but ballet. She is his one true love and the rest of the world doesn't matter. This is his story.

He's 26 years old. He's left his little town and moved to London. He left his best friend, who at that point, was his girlfriend. He's on stage, three performances a day. People love him. And it's so much pressure.

His time is ticking and he's terrified. He knows his body won't stand this, not for long. On TV, dancers are happy and graceful. He is neither.

It's one stupid choice. He's 26 years old. He has never been to a party. He is alone. He has nothing. He is a star. He's alone on stage, alone in his head.

He goes to a party. And boys and girls, and so many people, all together. He lets go of rules. He drinks. He's not sure how much, but by the end of the night, he jumps out of the second story. He is a star. Stars don't fall.

He crashes on the floor and breaks a leg. He is not a star. He is a hollow skeleton. He is lifeless. He is alone. He has nothing but a broken leg. His life is a tomb and he can only lie in it. He believes this is the end.

And is isn't. The leg heals. He is 28 years old. He is back in shape. The leg is okay. He lost every bit of weight he gained in those days. He is going to dance again. The stage will be his. He gets another chance. He will return. He works harder than ever. His body aches with ambition. He doesn't care. This is his. The stage is as beaconing as ever.

He dances.

It ends.

The phone rings that evening. He is fired. No one remembers him. He's too old. He faded away with his dreams. He was a ballet dancer. Ballet dancers don't dance in their thirties. His voice is gone. His heart is gone. He is no more than a pile of bones. He had a collection of hearts from the audience. It didn't change anything. The party left and he is no longer the life of it.

He goes back home, believing it was old age and sheer idiocy that killed his dream. And life goes on. The ballet company found a new younger dancer, more talented and hard working than he was, or could ever be. The years he spent there feel like a far off dream.

He finds himself in his girlfriend's arms and she understands. It's only then when they start to plot how they will beat time, destroy the aging and wreck the stupid party that didn't want them anymore.