Some days I feel like shit art pours out, doubt clouds the switch and every rails is a false start. Your doing better, I hope, but I think I know you are. So maybe that's why I don't ask who you’re with or whose holdin' down like when we were kids. But were we ever not?
50 years to controlled fusion and 10 till I restart. Thought you'd be in so Cal and I'd be on my way to Mars. But if that's the flip the negative ain't so bad when you consider all the aspirations for which we never ground like java.
Numbers say I got family in one piece even if forever tattered and by the textbook your home is broken but y'all still together and never scattered. So what's the truth then? Truth is growin' up happens in fits and starts and we head butt ourselves till our confidence departs. But ya heads to nappy to feel the impact and mines to soft for these collisions with dirty cars, no registration, no license to skate through rainbow streets from the ocean sunsets bounce of transmission leaks but we keep it movin’ keep the seat warm.
Keep the dollar chinese cookin’ drive by rain storms and no lordes without a bus pass and grand got no stars. But they ain’t got the 57 do they? They got kids from my bosque up in the hearth and you a constant and for this I thank your god that. You never left for too long. Even then you still check my pulse when I’m on life support.
So. Even though we got the same silhouettes, same creases, same diseases and same regrets the similarities are out matched by how we ain’t changed yet. Maybe some day we’ll have the same porch, a guitar and keys goin’ stupid on the same chords while redwoods blaze and bubble to that same noise. But till that hazy cali sky is our same roof, I’ll keep on writin’ and you’ll keep paintin’, speakin’ that same truth.
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