I can feel the air beginning its chill
Fall is upon us while old man winter waits in the wings for his spotlight
Holy October
A year since I first kissed your cheek with a poem
Kerouac's October
Your nights remind me of my ghost
Ghost of my past love that comes in cigarette smoke
Cigarette smoke I watched on a back porch that wasn't mine
Smoke like memory that floats away in whisps
I spit the regrets out with saliva and turn my attention to better paths
October I will write you a song
More beautiful than a spiritual hymn
And more powerful than a folk ballad

I have dreams of living alone
In an old shack
Surrounded by the peaks of Montana mountains
I sit on a porch playing guitar and watch tall grass blowing in the wind
Everything is as beautiful as I know it can be
There is no pain here
Maybe that is my heaven and I have to wait
If that's the case I don't  mind
Maybe that's my idea of freedom
Freedom is a word that always eludes me
Freedom to me is never being held back
Freedom is good company
And sometimes freedom is silence

Oh October evening
I am 20 years old
My bones are young but my heart feels much older
Give me gentle Montana plains
Quiet Virginian forests
The waves hitting Carolina shores
October I hope you love me as I love you
It's been hard for me to love lately
But October you are anything but cruel
You understand
October I'm glad to see you again

Can you have decent political opinions and still be a bad person?
I'm asking for a friend
How much theory does it take to build up the courage to stand in a protest?
Does a bandana covering your face make you a coward or does it make you careful?
See my friend knows which side he stands on
But when he looks in the mirror there seems to be a different person on each side
The most direct action he takes is sitting alone reading Marx
He's never left the sidelines long enough to understand the front lines
Dignity and freedom are nothing more than dictionary definitions
Liberation is too hard to grasp
He wants to know if it's ok to be timid when the marchers pass him by
If it's ok to doubt his own strength  

My friend spends too much time driving around singing folk punk anarchist hymns
And not enough time living the lyrics
Deep down inside he is still afraid of what people will say about him
He hates that he can be so self centered
He usually doesn't wash his dishes
My friend talks about shedding chains when he never really had that many to start with
He asks if anarchists are allowed to watch shows about cops
He wants to know if anyone will ever truly see him as an ally

Every night I take a moment to tell him not to be so afraid of taking the stand
That what he thinks will only go so far as what he does
My friend wants everyone to live in a better world and he wants to be a better person
I tell him that no one will hear you until you yell loud enough
I tell him that the there's no better place to stand than where he is
He knows better than to give up
He knows he is enough

I drive in circles because I don't want to go home
I trust in the strength of my phone's speakers as I listen to Ramshackle Glory
I drive past a house from long lost memories
What is my obsession with this suffering?
Why can't things move forward?
I romanticize living in my car
But then I remember most people who live in their cars don't have a choice
Does this make me a bad person?
Am I a bad person?
The next logical step after riding the rails is living in your car
Soon you'll find me an old grey beard anarchist living deep in the woods
A shotgun I never intend to fire pointed dutifully forward as I yell an the empty forest to get off my lawn
Surround myself with enough trees to hide from your ghost
I will surround myself with land and won't pay a dime because it probably won't be mine
But no ones gonna look for me where I'm going
I'm going to unionize the college campus
Seize the means of textbook production and go to bed hungry only when I want to
I will have coffee for breakfast
I will storm every Bastille left on earth
I will create a million Paris Communes
I won't go home
I promise I will never stop loving everyone I meet
I promise I will never stop fighting everything that wraps us in chains
I will die as old as I can get
I will hold on as tightly as humanly possible
And when I say I am free
I will always know what that means

I once lived in absence of color
I saw with eyes crystal clear
And when the light first shone in I was afraid of what I saw
I cried out
Save me from the crimson that runs in my veins and drips from my gums
Hide me from the dark green of the forest near my house
Repair my heart after the betrayal of the most beautiful blue

But I have seen the splendor of the ocean's sunrise
I refuse to let life beat my skin till it's black and blue
I refuse to stay silent as my comrades bleed the brightest red
I refuse to let anyone who values a green piece of paper over another human life rest easy
If all that glitters is not gold then my skin will be steel and copper
I am an ironside floating on endless sea green
I am the thunder of a thousand cannons emitting grey smoke from black powder
I am the yellow sun and the silver moon
I am every shade of starlight
I am the darkest night sky and the purest day blue
My eyes are the brown dirt earth that will grow crops to feed all people  
I am the dirt that grows sunflowers reaching toward heaven
I am the ink and the paper where we write "which side are you on?"
"solidarity forever"
And "we shall overcome
Some day"

Maybe some nights it's best not to sleep
Maybe this is one of those nights
Maybe I'm just too sentimental for the 21st century world
With its fleeting associations
And all the heads banging against the walls
Making the walls speak with outlines of faces who are too **** tired or too **** sad or in a pain that won't melt away
Some mornings I wake up and I want to smash windows to let in a little air
Some mornings I wake up and can't stand to look humanity in the eye
It's best not to remember those days if you know what's good for you
I've seen too many dead birds to deal with this ****
I have seen too many tears to acknowledge that love songs do any good

Maybe it's time to stop being a passenger here
Maybe it's time for me to get behind the wheel
Maybe we are already the captains
Maybe the ship isn't sinking yet
Promise me if this ship goes down you won't go with it
Promise me that before I die I will get onstage to sing again
They want to make me a saint
And place rosaries around my neck and flowers on my head
Meanwhile they are fixing to be martyrs
But the only difference between saints and martyrs
Is that saints perform miracles after they die
And martyrs inspire others to perform the same miracles
I still struggle to know which of the two are more holy

Tonight I saw your last concert
It's been a long time running
And it was well worth the wait

Nine years later
Would I rather not have met you?
Seven years later
Would I rather not have fallen in love?
Six years later
Are second chances worth giving?
One year later
Fool me three times and I am a joke

I am not the ghost I thought I was
You are the ghost instead
Ghost that runs in my veins
Ghost that still inhabits my dreams
Ghost I often think about
I need to lay your ghost to rest

Because now you are happy
Now you are whole
I am the one who sulks in darkness and hates their own reflection
I am he who writes about time that passes and love that fades
I am the deathly cliché of a boy who once  loved a girl and now is nothing more than a phantom
What difference is there between the phantom I have become and the ghost you are to me?
Can I exorcise these spirits?
Can my conscious return to solid form?
What chains do I rattle except for those I forged with my own bad timing my own poor choices and my own disillusion?

I must lay your ghost to rest before it kills me
But I can't bring myself to do it
In quiet moments I bridge our past failures to future hopes and my present becomes limbo
I can barely look people in the eye anymore
I avoid it so they can't see that I am never truly there
I made you this ghost in my mind
You and I made me a phantom
You won't forgive me and that's ok
I can't forget you
And I will have to learn
How to make it work
Ghosts are only as real as your willingness to let them into your mind
The door has long been open
And you are always welcome in

I have heard your words in the night
I have read everything your heart has moved to
The very words written on your soul plain as day
There is no need for ambiguity
The bags under your eyes are because you can't sleep
You climb bridges because you know what horrors await at ground level
At times you remind me of myself
In the trinity of your world, you take the place I do
The ghost who stands tall and skinny
I have walked parts of the path you travel and if my journey is any indication you have nothing to fear
I am with you tonight in spirit
You have no need to be baptized by fire for if no one else I can forgive you
Pain in this world isn't always your fault but you are responsible for how it moves you
Do not be pushed into harsh action my brother
Understand the sovereignty of choice for all individuals and that times and people change
Do not blame yourself for the sadness you feel
The writing on the wall whispers "be calm be still breathe"
The saints and prophets wish you well
We are all but skeletons left here
Dry bones rising out of the sand of the desert
Just like Ezekiel
Stand tall and trust that nothing is imaginary
The wounds on your hands will heal and the snow will give way to flowers again