He was watching from the corner,
thinkin’, ‘I don’t have enough.’
She was dancing like she used to.
Singin’, ‘boy, you’re way too much.’
She was dancing by the bad door.
Singin’, ‘I’ve got way too much.’
He was watching like he used to.
Thinkin’, ‘love, you’re just enough.’
Belting movie tunes just before Halloween.
Singing.
They wonder if they remember,
knowing they’ll always understand.
Roaring, making moves.
Please act as though you never knew.
Quiet, napalm news he’d previously received,
so he understood what was happening.
He was floating in her freedom,
thinkin’, ‘I don’t have a clue.’
She was jumping on an old bed
singin’, ‘boy, you know it’s you.’
She was living like a rebel
singin’, ‘what happened to you?’
He was writing on an old bed
thinkin’, ‘love, I left the clues.’
Worn, but built with patience to barrel past anything.
Desert, midwest, mazes, phases, following, falling,
or chasing every dream, or everything it seems.
Singing.
They’ll always understand.
this is your life chuck johnson 