And with the window went the frame,
The pictures of the past years
flew from the exhibits they slept in
Everything from you to the attic
boxed itself in cardboard
And the road lay before us.
The south was resting her sleepy eyes
in the backseat while the rest
of us became mid winter chimneys.
And somewhere between
lexington and Baton Rouge
I forgave myself of my past
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
And with the window went the frame,
The pictures of the past years
flew from the exhibits they slept in
Everything from you to the attic
boxed itself in cardboard
And the road lay before us.
The south was resting her sleepy eyes
in the backseat while the rest
of us became mid winter chimneys.
And somewhere between
lexington and Baton Rouge
I forgave myself of my past
