I'm from Pennsylvania and its broken landscapes
Trees scale the sky with branches that don't end
Eggs crackle on the stove of your favorite diner, sunny side up
It's always sunny in Philadelphia
It's always rainy in the suburbs because the grass needs it
Or so dad says

I come from a place of constant decay
Historical avenues, local produce that actually goes 'vrot'
The leaves litter the earth but we litter it more
Old books decompose in desolate buildings and old art hears less footsteps as each season violently meets its end

It's cold now and the landscape is stiff
Imagine being so cold you just drop everything
Our trees do that
Like magic, or like troubled vagabonds
But imagine being so cold it brings happiness to your bones
Because home is ears flushed red and fingertips blue
Home is sweet strawberries in the summer and sweet suffering in the winter

Pennsylvania is a polarized wreck just like the rest of us
It's chipped right at the lip but it's still the mug that fits best in a calloused hand
It's clay and mud and d irty water and rud
Fields of corn and grain, apple orchards and more rain
But its the filth we dance in, the mud for our pies and the apples for our eyes

Memories stay behind as the shapes of clouds in those boundless skies
Berry stained fingertips graze their outlines
Haystacks beckon you to stay because
Pennsylvania provokes the hardest goodbyes