All her innocence, it has been bled to death.
I am walking down my childhood road,
remembering things I used to do.
Like climbing that breakable tree
& layin' in the grass smackin' candy in the sun.
The old neighborhood has changed.
The big trees are smaller and all the dogs are dead.
The secret place where we'd build fires has a house on it.
All the midnight moonlit paths are closed forever.
The bike track is a backyard.
We can't shoot birds with the BB gun in the empty lot next door anymore.
I remember sleeping on your deck talking about girls' breasts like they were stars or galaxies or something.
My childhood isn't dead, it lives on.
Because I want it there with me when I die.
Here comes the Ice Cream Truck, can't you hear it?
Anybody can be a poet.
Even the dogs know it.
Don't be a mouse, be a lion
