Last fed is the last out of bed. Just a few words to live by. I guess what I mean is I meant what I said, I never looked back as I tore out of town.
Back home, folks were slower than most, lazy days, nowhere to go. Not much disrupting, ‘cept occasional snow, and me, I kept right in my lane.
Now those days are gone, and for real, I don’t miss it. Never been stoned like I was that one Christmas; now holidays hurt, but I won’t cross those bridges.
Symbols in smoke are sketched in the sky, I mistook them for clouds, guess the shapes caught my eye. My sister once scribbled a scene in her notebook, looked just like Milwaukee, but felt just like home.
Everyone hurts, we’re all just the same; but I’ll make a name, when I dust off the dirt. Can’t quit for trying, and won’t keep pretending. All we can do is keep on enduring.