I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories.
really, you could be anything at all. a small pebble getting kicked along on a busy street, a hair in someone's drink, a goodluck charm, a time filler-upper, a warm mouth, a mirror, a tall glass of lemonade on the hottest day of the year. And you will never have any control over these things, what you are to other people. these things can change daily, you can be anything, to anyone, at any moment. it’s a simple choice though, the one you do have. here or gone. stick around or get to going. let ‘em use you or don’t. for some it is an easy choice to close your heart off to other people. but mostly, it’s like when you see a balloon floating high up in the sky, up and off over some distant trees. you trace it with your eyes for as long as you can, but you know it can’t stay up there forever.
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind
And in the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different kind
And I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines