Inspiration struck
halfway through [the boring meadows]
of Oklahoma.
Lately, I've been doing most of my seeing through windshields of cars.
I set my mind to a destination, picture your face,
and I'm gone.
You seem to prefer me best almost off-balance
just out-of-sync
Biting my red lips, slightly unsure.
Hair in my eyes, dirty jeans, and a half-smile
meant only for you.
The less-sure version of your miraculously confident self.
I can handle that...
it's almost 100% true
at least 38% of the time.
You started writing down my words and actions
nearly eight years ago,
watching me, and recording.
Apparently I missed so many things...
the boy, half in love with the girl
half insane.
Now you're the one on stage.
I study your face, as you dedicate song after song
throwing my name out in front of Any Audience
in Any Town, USA.
I scramble, trying to decipher [your] hidden meaning
that might not be there at all.
Three weeks ago you kissed me in a morning-drenched room
in a small town in Missouri.
Mattress on the floor, a painting done by someone else.
[I saw light everywhere, and now it surrounds me]
Now I smoke a joint in the middle of America,
on my way to find you.
Staring out the windshield,
holding my breath, picturing destinations and
your face.
[This trip, I will drive 10 hours to hug you twice
Last week, it was 36. I figured it out:
I paid $110 an hour to stand in your presence-
$550 and 5 hours of your time]
If it sounds like I'm complaining...
I'm not.
I used to have something meaningful to say at the end
because I used to feel that there was one.
halfway through [the boring meadows]
of Oklahoma.
Lately, I've been doing most of my seeing through windshields of cars.
I set my mind to a destination, picture your face,
and I'm gone.
You seem to prefer me best almost off-balance
just out-of-sync
Biting my red lips, slightly unsure.
Hair in my eyes, dirty jeans, and a half-smile
meant only for you.
The less-sure version of your miraculously confident self.
I can handle that...
it's almost 100% true
at least 38% of the time.
You started writing down my words and actions
nearly eight years ago,
watching me, and recording.
Apparently I missed so many things...
the boy, half in love with the girl
half insane.
Now you're the one on stage.
I study your face, as you dedicate song after song
throwing my name out in front of Any Audience
in Any Town, USA.
I scramble, trying to decipher [your] hidden meaning
that might not be there at all.
Three weeks ago you kissed me in a morning-drenched room
in a small town in Missouri.
Mattress on the floor, a painting done by someone else.
[I saw light everywhere, and now it surrounds me]
Now I smoke a joint in the middle of America,
on my way to find you.
Staring out the windshield,
holding my breath, picturing destinations and
your face.
[This trip, I will drive 10 hours to hug you twice
Last week, it was 36. I figured it out:
I paid $110 an hour to stand in your presence-
$550 and 5 hours of your time]
If it sounds like I'm complaining...
I'm not.
I used to have something meaningful to say at the end
because I used to feel that there was one.
