Child of the Stars
Ann Arbor, MI
Barefoot on gravel, he wanders
full-blast, half-mast but laughing.
Not a care.
Falling's potential, but then
so is the other way.
Skipping from run-in to all the other
run-down downs and roundabouts,
brothers aren't friends,
Shoot 'em long before they're dead
from hunger, he says--
agree or face his.
I agree and logic wins
like logic never does.
Four guitars strapped on his back,
one for each emotion
(you know, hate and love and trust
and marriage, growing like mushrooms).
Can't let those shoes melt
'cause walking's real this time.
[This message has been edited by Child of the Stars (09-05-2002 07:15 AM).]