I am mesmerized by the size of the moon,
and how it looks like your eyes when you're scared.
Well, I'm scared of the dark and growing old
and how the people I love wont be there,
But their thoughts will coast from breath to soul,
to alcohol heavy heart,
and follow your hope with tv-remote
to the places that things get lost.
I will get lost,
or am I already gone?
You told me somewhere things don't change,
when someone leaves, another stays,
and love layers like tree bark on all of our brains,
and sorrys always cut it,
like a ribbon of awkward moments:
the silence between speaking,
and the in and out radio.