Small town life is simple.
The downtown has no neon.
The streets are long and open.
Begging for the smell of thrashed rubber
And cigarette smoke.

Your mechanic knows your blood type
Your doctor knows your license plate.
Secrecy sounds more like something from a Bond film
Than a genuine principle.

A playground lies across from a cemetery
As though to say no one ever really dies,
Or that it was fun while it lasted.