Same Old New

I wake up and its morning, I hear that calendar say:
“this September twenty-first, is your most beautiful day”.
Tell me kindly, of the luggage that has crawled from the crash,
not those carried down the river that pours out from this gash.
Tell me what I’ve got that can still leave or stay,
and what I’ve got left to bet away.

When life won’t give up a single skip in its beat,
and chance still roams and owns the veins trapped under the streets.
Every corner could simply be two kissing walls,
or could speak up to be somebody’s end to it all.

Yet the sun helps me see along my tired-eyed walk,
as he outlines the day with his bright yellow chalk,
filling in the sleeping coast,
he paints and he protests where the strong dam was broke.

But the beaten down binding, that cracks while it ages,
glows bright green with envy for his ever young pages.
And he knows that there must be some way to explain,
how so much time can pass, while you feel just the same.

Awoken each morning to the same old new friends,
they laugh and they joke and they throw their arms over,
a cold shoulder that shivers and the comfort it rends,
who are you, who are you, you must see another.

Please, just don’t say I’m the wave who broke down,
I don’t want to be just water on the shore now.
I’ll be that bravest knight,
you swore you’d always help keep this torch lit,
even if, when comes tomorrow’s light, my shining armor doesn’t fit.

I remember something I once read,
or those few drunk words some man had said:
“If you can be the boat she needs,
believe that she will be your mast.”
And I want to know that through the teeth
still stained from where he tipped his glass,
there’s just a love lost boy in there,
who’s found a wall and made it last.

Well I learn more and more with every step that I take,
or do I just find those things that I learned yesterday?
Either way I’m living with one iron in the fire,
and its just that I find you, before my last summer sets.
Before you’re the one who can’t help but forget.

But the soft mattress is batting its mascara lashes,
looking its best for tonight’s hopeful takers,
and the structure collapses and my reason for clashes
with my reasons against, and I can’t help but take her.
regret is for those who will still be there in the morning.

I wake up and its morning, I hear that calendar say:
“this September twenty-first, is your most beautiful day”.

My dreams are where I’m safe, where I can sail my ships,
like a kiss that’s set aflame on all too delicate lips.
They cross curious paths with all the devious rocks,
and I forget how easily this material rips.

This place is so unwelcome, since I’ve strayed from your side,
like the heartbroken cathedral that calls after the bride.
But she’s not taking a word of it to heart,
and I guess she just sees the lines better apart.

And these pictures help me see your face,
like I saw it that night, before the bright light swam over me.
and I’m dressed up in skin, pretty as fall’s dried out leaves,
I match the trees too perfectly, and something has to change.
But something here is strange.

That black and white confession from,
A darling girl tied to her grateful mom.
“Thank you, lord. Oh thank that she is home and safe.”
Flashes draw themselves from out the dark and help to narrate,
the date worn in the corner, September, twenty-first,
and my throat’s as dry as desert dunes, and their eternal thirst.
These images tell a story that I haven’t heard in years;
and I am all ears.

We didn’t need an antenna, when we both spoke such beautiful words,
But we listened to it anyway, and helped out all our favorite songs.
Build me up buttercup, if you feel that you must,
but don’t you dare go off and lose control of your lust.
Don’t you dare go off and take this from me.

So those big and brown and heavy eyes, tugged away atop the wheel,
saved that little girl the stress of learning how she’s not to feel.
Turned us right around again, the world a streaming, unclear mess,
a carousel of wind and steel, spinning off the ground-set tracks.
That little girl just locked her eyes, her heart leapt up right from her dress.
When that wide wall sure tried his best, to savor what just one now lacks.

And I wish I could tell you that it was me,
I wish on my own I could tell you anything.
But wishes are thin when the cosmos grows weak,
and angels like her, are drawn out through a slow leak.

I wish I were grateful that he just wants me to forget,
but no matter what, upon each night, she’s all that’s worn inside my head.
And maybe I am selfish, as I’m chasing this elusive kite.
but when you sound me out against the radio,
I hope to you I sound alright.

I’m just a shining sea locked behind the walls of the dam,
and I guess its better than what I had in mind.
I wouldn’t want to drown that town, yeah.
So don’t let me out, keep me trapped behind.