He is in a dead town waiting on a train,
like sitting in the desert waiting on the rain.
Little storm to stir it all up.
He is in a lobby waiting on some joe,
like sitting in the desert waiting on the snow.
Little blanket to cool us all down.
Build a fire, get together.
Move a cloud and make new weather.
We could always make this better,
so why don’t we take our time?
He doesn’t know how he knew that, no more worries.
He doesn’t run across timelines, never hurries
and they say he’s one of a kind.
Walks alone, goes wherever he may go.
General destination, be happy.
He is on a back road, questions when it turns,
like answers on a mountain question when they’ll learn.
Takes some time, but it all winds down.
He is on a rooftop, questions what he knows,
like answers on a mountain question what’s below.
Takes some time to make it all up.
Imagination gazes down.
Stares at paper and starts a fight.
No question what’s meant to happen.
Gets some out and gets a nap in,
before he sits outside in the rain.
this is your life chuck johnson 