A pair of blue jeans, baby,
A cut-up magazine.
Quotes in the air,
Quotes on the fridge,
Quotes on our bodies,
Tattooed across our ribs.

The meaning has changed,
Yet the words are the same.
I know, it’s not quite as clear,
But the feeling’s still here.
You know, art does that, sometimes-
Have you ever seen the Mona Lisa?
She’ll laugh
Now and then,
She’ll widen her elusive grin,
But don’t blink, boy,
‘Cause now she’s only smiling again.

A hundred pairs of socks, baby,
Some bath tub with a ring.
Someone is arriving,
Someone is even smiling,
And here comes someone with
Bible verses on their back,
And…
By God, they’re thriving.

The needle has skipped,
Yet the words echo on.
I know I’m older than all the things I’m surrounded by,
Than a dog or two, and a chewed pair of shoes.
This memory of a life is like
Seeing my house burned down,
With all my possessions
Littering the ground.

A wall full of photos, baby,
A brand new television, for you but not for me.
These days have finally matured,
These days have decided to let us go.
These days are down the road, without
So much as a ‘goodbye’,
Or a passing glance
And you pass them on the road.

But art, it does that, sometimes.
In fact, baby,
Have you ever seen Van Gogh’s sunflowers,
With their heads hung down in defeat?
One would think they died in the summer heat,
But it was love that did them in-
Some protective barrier that failed them again.
It happens, sometimes;
I’ll laugh now and then,
Widen my elusive grin,
But soft, soft as I am,
I can’t turn around,
And allow this to happen again.
I’ll give you my blue jeans
And things;
Take my quotes,
The socks, my
Magazines.
For now that the past has disappeared,
The future is growing clear.
In March, I’ll be born again,
Like every sunflower who deserves
To be treated like a princess becoming a queen,
I’ll be…I’ll be.
And then, baby,
It’ll be…It’ll be
Like we never passed each other in the hall,
Five years ago,
Before I was short and you were tall,
It’ll be…It’ll be
Like you never even
Knew me at all.