Way out there, crossing every line,
a sun set and every color commenced their rhyme.
There wasn’t a feeling of time,
like we’d always been there.
We don’t know what’s gonna be right,
but we feel it if it’s gonna be wrong.
Wondering about more than me now
and these days are still my song.
Standing still, those hands just keep on spinning.
Time flies the opposite pace of heart rates.
Speed up, slow down.
Wind hands back around.
Spin out, get found.
Still, in me, feel my sound,
so I know we’re gonna get there.
Space like greed, more we have, less we need.
Up fast, down slow.
Hands wind back, they know.
Faceplant and grow.
Soon be ‘we’, watch us go.
That’s how we’re gonna get there.
this is your life chuck johnson 