we were young and impressionable, you were old in your own way.
you could tell me everything there was to know about a weathered trees, irregular soil and faded memories.
times and times ago, you were my age, without a father, fumbling up broken tree limbs,
jumping out of trees into the water, splashing, washing your fears on shore with the aftermath of your splash.
but, we were different, the fury ii’s turned into crown vics, and snuff turned into a soft pack of menthols,
we were young and impressionable, and you were old in your own way.
you could tell me about how you jumped over a ditch one time, after being chased by the cops,
only for them to get the wind knocked plum out, since their old bones couldn’t achieve the distance.
you would tell me about your daddy running shine and killing time with a bottle.
you could tell me about how your momma would work in the fields and cotton gins all through the weekend.
her back is slightly bent, from working on the land.
and the last time i saw her, i cried.
i cried because there is so much life in that bag of skin, but it’s been used up.
i want to hold her like a baby, and tell her that it’s okay to go.
she is old and impressionable now, and i am old in my own way.
you can tell me everything is part of a great master plan, the cross of Christ and all that talk.
i just want to get some feathers tattooed on my arms and learn how to fly.
i just want a father to grow old with, i want a mother that can see the possibilities of me not believing,
i have a daughter to look in the eyes everyday, and by god i promise she will get everything she ever wants.
times and times ago, you were my age, without a thought, without a care, just fumbling through the aftermath.
we are young and impressionable, like dirt, like air, like feathers that carry the wings.
if for some reason we all leave here today, remember that we were the ones that made this different.
we are all young, and we’ve gotta’ grow old before we grow up.
