Song To John
The tear on my face
Are red wet pearls
Tastes like a saline drip
In my yellow mouth
The plans I made in my
Room unfurl
Im going home again
This the last time
Rural Drive
Home again
I always liked it
When you talked like summer
Drying eyes at graduation
The school erasing our numbers
Im going home again
For the last time
Rural Drive
Home again
We passed on the street
Practical, political, perennial
Lost hunting our dreams
Exploding like doves into the shot from our guns
