Tried to pass myself. My accent won't help. I can't fool no one. I'm not native son. Just on holiday, anyway. There will always be a trace of this place in me.
White light in the morning. Yellow afternoon. Golden in the evening when you come home when you do. Play my song so softly. In a room without a view. I just wish I had some place else to move.
The nights are longer now. And the days are slowing down. Looking up at stained glass sky. And the only color is white. . The laughing brook that ran right through this town.
Two flashlights out in the night will get you home. Walking under the night's punctured dome. I know I'm bound to leave this town. There's other there.
Why do you go to all the trouble. When you know what comes next. And when you're wishing you had just stayed home. What did you expect?. . I woke up Sunday morning.
It's a time to be humble, it's a time to be free. It's a time to raise our voices loud and not go quietly. As this time marches on into great uncertainty.
I was born on a Saturday. What about you?. Well you know, I already know that you were too. I will go on a screened-in porch on a rainstorm. I won't hold fast, you're waiting past onto no form.
Six o'clock, the crickets stop. The sky fills up with light. Was it the rain or a southbound train. That woke me up last night?. It's just this game, makes me insane.
The black and yellow finches. That nest in our new ferns. Which hang upon our front porch. Wait for the warm sun to return. . Impatiently, as I wait for you.