I remember the stars,
One warm summer's night,
When I went on a camping trip with friends,
We were out in the middle of nowhere,
But more importantly,
I remember you.

You were an old friend of a mutual acquaintance,
The one who organized the whole trip,
And you were from out of town.

You were something else,
Nothing but curious eyes and dangerous smiles,
And a wit like nothing else.

As we took to the canoes,
I learned you liked the same beer as me,
Which no one else on the trip did,
You would furrow your brows when you were trying to recall details from a story
And you liked to laugh at my jokes.

By the first evening,
We had become fast friends,
I let you pillage from my beer,
The kind I brought because it was my favorite,
Inside jokes already formed and nicknames were just around the bend

You sat beside me at the campfire that night,
Shoulder to shoulder,
For warmth we both reason,
It was chilly,
Our friends gave us knowing stares that
We ignored,
Suddenly finding a patch of dirt or the fire very interesting.

I remember talking with you after everyone went to sleep,
Still on the log,
The dying embers our only real measure of time.

In the morning,
You were unnaturally energetic,
You say you're always like this in the mornings,
The dawn setting your hair ablaze.

We're back in the boats,
And both of us are silent,
It's not awkward,
But comfortable.

We reach the end,
And on the bus back to get to our cars,
Soon followed by us all getting back to our cars and saying our goodbyes.

I don't mean to save you for last,
At least I don't think,
And then you're in front of me.

We chat just a little bit,
Delaying what we both know must happen,
Last night we both realized we would probably never see each other again,
You being from out of town,
We were delaying saying goodbye.

You give me this look I swear I could have known for years,
And promptly attack me with a hug,
Giving me a very warm and inviting kiss.

Then you were gone,
Driving down the road,
And out of my life.

I remember the stars,
One warm summer's night,
When I went on a camping trip with friends,
We were out in the middle of nowhere,
But more importantly,
I remember you.

I'm just laying here in bed,
Ian Anderson is explaining to me through my headphones,
Of how alone I could be,
If I made the choice of going my own way,
But that I would find what I am looking for.

Sometimes I feel like my life is this canyon,
with a river in the bottom of it,
And that I'm on a raft,
Paddling along.

And in this canyon,
From my raft,
I can see those who have been my mentors,
Up at the tops of the canyon,
Calling out to me if they see rapids ahead.

So far they've been pretty good about it,
Not saying there haven't been rough patches,
A couple of close calls,
But I'm still in one piece.
I know that up ahead though,
There's whole lotta rough stuff,
And my lookouts aren'tt going to be of much use.
So it'll be just me against whatever's up ahead,
With nothing to rely on but my own wit.
It'll be like the bad 'ol days.

What kind of person are you?
Are you the kind of person who pulls the first smoke out of a pack,
Only to put it back into the pack upside down,
Dubbing it the "Lucky Smoke".

Maybe you're the kinda person who says they're into Johnny Cash,
But didn't even know Cash started out singing Gospel.

Could you be the kinda person to be able to have their nose broken,
Only to smile because you've finally come across something that's a challenge?

Perhaps you have a secret talent,
One you think you're not good enough at to show anyone,
But trust me, if people knew about it I know they'd be surprised.

Perhaps you feel like you've been dumped straight into the gutter,
By either those you trusted,
Or by those you never expected to betray you.

Whoever you are,
If you're feeling alone, trapped, or like the walls are closing in,
Come take a seat,
Let me tell you a tale or two,
Let's listen to a record or three,
And maybe I can ease your mind for a little bit,
In this smoky room of mine.

Speaking of the Man in Black,
Cash is playing the role of a dying man,
Who is begging his friend to do something, anything to save him.
His words like weights upon one's shoulders.

I sit here,
Fingers aching,
Smudged in ink,
From when I changed the ribbon,
My right knee decides,
At this very moment,
To make its regular bout of grinding pain known to me,
Yay.


Heloise Tunstall-Behrens and Luisa Gerstei are making my heart shatter,
From over 3,700 miles away.
These sirens are begging the listener to Sing them to sleep,
Because they've gone and lost the mindset,
To dream seamlessly.

Their club has swelled by one,
I say to myself as I light a smoke,
It's about to be a long night.

My knee starts complaining once more,
The old injury settling down after I massage the ailment.

Now the trickling of a xylophone is tapping out of the wires,
Gentally accompanied by a guitar and the girls,
They're warning the listener of their past transgressions,
It's gentle tone,
Lulling you into hearing,
Before your brain can register the lyrics,
However,
They're whisked away by the xylophone,
What was a steady trickle has swelled into a quick stream,
They're now telling the listener to use them up,
Because that's what they're expecting anyway.
Seems like a tale of escaping from something bad to me.

Is this why I write?
To escape?

Or is it to bring you into my world,
If only for a bit?

Eddie Vedder's voice is the one singing on the song,
But the words were written by Otis Redding,
When he was out experiencing the world,
Contemplating his future after R&B.

You ever had experiences like that?
Where all the curtains are pulled away,
And you realize you need to plan your next step.

Have you planned yours?