Resting back on pillows in my attic hideaway Feeling satisfied on a full stomach Gazing through the top roof window that rests higher than wide Clear clouds pass by at a snails pace To the backdrop of the faintest watercolor-blue sky And the early moon rests in perfect parallel to my line of sight Daylight peels away at the same speed of the approaching night I can't pluck a single reason to complain from my mind So I may as well just stay here and sit tight And let my music ring on Oh so mellow Oh so right
I came of age as one of the many young knights who would mature and become Pirates. Our kingdom stretched from the end of the world along the cliff lined Pacific. To the low side of Alma. The sprawling wild canyons of 6th street, to the railroad tracks along the waterfront.
Daring as we were we drank straight from the bottle while constantly losing ourselves beneath the shadow of the Owl.
Our friendship was a brotherhood and a hand shake meant a hell of alot more than a greeting.
Black eyes and stab wounds worn like medals earned in battle. The ******* was white as bone and the girls were still as fresh as the Tangerines we picked from our neighbors yards in the summer.
The young Pirates of those days took all this Town had to give. And even when beaten down and hungover. The need to experience still fought on for more.
The Armor I wore in those early days was youth. And that armor with stood it all.
Youth can and will endure many things. Almost all things. All things that is but time.