We Are Who We Are

I just want to be in a car right now
on my way to anywhere.

Tiny American towns
with lazy Sunday afternoons
call me away from
may air conditioned office rooms.
Sometimes I see these four walls
as my living tomb,
but there's fresh air somewhere
and a nation in bloom.

Wind and sand
stings our cheeks
the happiest red
that burns for weeks.
There's nothing in front of us
except miles and heat
and we sing with the stereo,
a little off beat.

We're on our way to a place
we'll never see again
unless we truly are the lucky ones
every now and then
There's an ocean that isn't mine
just around the bend.
"Mine is better, but
yours can pretend."

We joke that we don't know
how we wound up so far
from our rooms and basements
and our dingy corner bars.
But we've known all along
because we are who we are.
I want to see a snow-faced boy
and I want to hear a little guitar.

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Feeling tired of being at home. I want a road trip that's more than just an over-night, but...I have - like - a job now. Downgrade. Haha...well, not really, but it makes trips tougher. Today, I missed driving through desert. Weird.









"Do you know -- who I am?" - Ummm...all my friends.

"I want to hear a little guitar. I think it's time to put the top down." Counting Crows Raining In Baltimore

"Lullaby for a snow-faced girl is what I'll sing, watching you, the whole time." Kevin Devine Lullaby For A Snow-Faced Girl