i'm okay, (but)
there are probably stars out
except ones i've never seen
perfect light out of reach

and some sleazy sounding horn's
playing over (pulling over)
the soft panic that things
are about to go to hell
but i can't leave them (no! it's the truth)

like how i know it will be a machine
unwittingly recorded
and i'll get it, (that's how i hear it now, because it's not her)
and cry, like i'm used to it
like i have in the past

(like i haven't)

and now it's some bland blonde slide guitar
pummeling, baking me, just like

streetlights rushing past

(christ, you know how i am!)

i'll never be (okay)
i'll never know
(okay?)

07/23/2005

Author's Note: Written Saturday evening, July 23, 2005.

Posted on 07/24/2005
Copyright © 2025 Corey Lockaby