Remember what it was
to just lie in your bed under the rain.
I wanted to believe in you.
I wanted to believe in us.
But those dark lights of red and black,
with soft kisses being traded
for glances at the computer screen
were facades of hope.
Nothing comes without work.
I know that.
Nothing good comes to those who wouldn’t wait.

Hey, let me join you.
I need a drink to sink my teeth into
everything falling down beside me, around me.

Can you see it?
Look at me!

Don is that you?
I’m in pain Don, but not like you.
No, not like you.

Hey Dad, they let the dog out.
I can feel her breathing as I sit nervously,
feeling scared in a city I’ve never winced in, but should have.


I knew this would hit me: even the sober get crazy sometimes.
She’s staring. Her teeth are as yellow as a school bus, her breath is hungry.
I am only protected by this locked car door.


But there’s a smirk, or a smile, poking its head out of the anger.
This dog means no harm.
She’s a saint, an angel,
only adapting to her surroundings.

I am the mountain enclosing her.

Where do we go from this point in which

And I begin with the eyes of a man
So broken, so tired!
From his feet, torn up from the marching of the distance
Necessary for respect, to his lips, that he slaps his tongue across to wet them,
To get more voice to keep speaking.
For this man loves another man, but to you he’s a sinner?
When do you draw the line between a murderer of a human and a lover of another?
I’ll do it now to keep distinction between the hurtful and the amorous.
This man, is not yet free to do what he wants. 

Two people hid
under a desk for twenty years,
while the sun snuck and shined
the truth up against
their faces. Painted in red,
they continued into the closet.
Soundproofed, their mouths
made no noise in the long run.
But for nearly as long as we slept,
they were forced to stare at the flash,
to look over their backs,
until the next day,
when they disguised each other.

There’s something so somber about open roads and early mornings.
Your only friends are the cars that speed past you
And the shining reflectors stuck to the pavement.
The same songs play on the radio,
The lights in the distance never get any closer.

“It’s not a good life, the life of a trucker,” they say.
But life is life, and their way is the highway, the long way, the hard way.
Who are we to say how they must live?
I can’t.
No one can.

What is this? A summer time of epic proportions?
Oh, I laugh to hear this.
We were so free. When we swung our fists to a slow beat.
The rhythm found in our hearts. You did not believe me then.
Some early 2000 year, a guitar in one hand, imagination in the other.
If only we could recreate the magic that was inspired.
If only we could show the world what we’re really made of.
If only we could have had the right tools.
If only we weren’t so afraid.
If only I wasn’t so afraid,
The world could know what we’re made of.