If i was a songwriter i would sit in my room - dusky blue guitar strumming.
Windows cold-fogged-closed from the night air outside -
Sound suspended in the freezing.
Sing about the full moon hanging yellow in the trees tonight
and the way the road rose to meet me driving driving.
Sing of the silence inside sometimes, no words ...
the enormity of choices and how i feel i am drifting.
A little. Sometimes.
How it feels to wish I could go back in time, just a bit ...
Go back to finish that conversation, say it new ...
drink the last sip of wine, run down that beach ...
Jump out of the aeroplane.
Not have to always be saying goodbyes
Goodbye and bless you and i wish you would stay.
Wish I could stay me - me then and me now.
New beginnings mean endings and it's hard to let go.
Sometimes. A little.
Go back to that night beneath the boughs of the lemon tree
dreaming of tequila shots with salt from the sea.
Go forward to a full moon under an African sky
And all of us together.
A different bench.