Do the wires in your mind get sewn together,
rubbed and severed by the heat?
If you don't know how long it gets there,
it's your picture.
I wish that it was me,
I guess it's different,
could you love me?
What I've got are interactive,
sequenced,
twisted imaginations.
And that's got a counter-punishment.
We used to ride past the fields till the lights came on.
No reason, no rush, just gone.
Paper planes and radio songs,
time was slow but dreams moved on.
Mom's old car hums down the lane,
windows down and smell like rain.
Back then the world felt wide,
every corner held the sky.
We were too young to understand how fast those summers ran.
Streetlight glow on August skin,
we swore we'd never grow thin.
Now it plays like film on rewind,
a scene I'll never leave behind.