On late hours, when spring is fighting to grow - outside, in me, in everything - I miss the people I knew, the people I’ve been — and it fills up that terrifying suffocating -of regretting- every wrong word ever said. When every word I’ve EVER said, seems like the wrong one now. I don’t know where I lost myself in it all, but I did, and now it’s done... Now the years have come and gone and — it’s one year later from the same exact old passages -- unknowingly, walking in the same doors, and the same dreams… Making the same charts and praying for change. Hating the nightmares that should be soothing memories.
Change me back into who we were — all passion for life and dreams — all hope in leaps, and adventures came easy — and love was just a funny thing between our thoughts in nights. Between our bodies. Change back upon the tides, the crystals - the ah, hell whatever will work - so that we can all feel free again. The wildness and that peaceful trust.
That easing into new faces like it’s just a conversation. And falling like we, could cut the bare sky and swing upon it.
That easing into new faces like it’s just a conversation. And falling like we, could cut the bare sky and swing upon it.
Where has the wave of youth that was just here gone — where lies the second Renaissance? Cause all my lies, and all I’ve lied upon — now seems a big ‘ole mess. Where tapestries of studied words, crash into lamen’s woes - and on it goes a-spiralling while my stomach churns in turns.
But then, there’s still the glimmer — there’s the remembering the lag before each fall. The vaulted ways, the chained and dragging feet — it all feels like thick molasses. And you ache to race, and you push to run - and still it goes so slow. But there’s a glimmering thought - a thing between night and day - where all seems bright and you look to what you know, you feel the "thing with feathers"- for an instant. The weary dreams form a wall or two before- you blink. You breathe, and flicker upon yourself again.
So it could start again; change your name - tell all the stories right this time - come home at night, and sit beside - your love and every inch of home. Homeward on and still it might just be — all ahead and nearly over. Please do say it’s so...
So it could start again; change your name - tell all the stories right this time - come home at night, and sit beside - your love and every inch of home. Homeward on and still it might just be — all ahead and nearly over. Please do say it’s so...
“the best is yet to be.”
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