Shadows on the fog left me wondering.
Two feet outside my door,
just not ready to go in.
They’re leaving the center
of a shitty motel with plastic bags in their hands.
A carton of eggs, maybe.
Maybe I’m not ready to be.
Think I just waved to a stranger.
Think I just found my old smile.
Think I am living in circles.
Think I am losing my rhyme.
Silence when it rains leaves me wondering.
Two feet inside, I snore,
just not ready for leaving.
They fade on the inside.
If I get down, I can see two knees under a door.
A carton of blues, maybe.
Maybe they’re not ready for me.
Think I just waved to a stranger.
Think I just thought, ‘it’s my friend.’
Think I am walking a straight line.
Think I am what I intend.
Broken down near a city that I broke down in.
Couldn’t have lived through how it seemed.
Strung out lifetimes shuffle through a parking lot.
What I watch now was never a dream.
They’re so far gone.
They’re like an old song.
They shuffle ‘til dawn.
They shuffle and struggle, can’t leave.
Mental movie reels shot from the corner, by me.
this is your life chuck johnson 