11:12

Maybe if the stones hadn’t been so hard,

Or the moon weren’t so far,

If the broken lute hadn’t gone to the bard,

Or if the sun weren’t just a star.

It’s painful to think of what’s done as past

And wish there were a change,

But even good memories aren’t meant to last

Beyond our imagination’s range

---

Miles and miles and a few more

Maybe if I’d been born closer

Or a little farther,

I wouldn’t have been inclined

To give you my heart

When you didn’t ask,

Like the last gift on Christmas.

You opened your locket heart,

And I took my marks,

Diving head first into a heartache

Advil cannot fix.

---

Up, at the riverbed

You used to think of the city

As tall buildings, glittering glass,

Waves of people flowing down the streets

Like a river, or a waterfall, rushing about —

Clean and pristine.

 

But since the move, it’s become clear:

Cities are made of mud,

And a river is only held up

By the rocks and clay and dirt

At the bottom.

 

The river’s bottom has never detracted

From the beauty of flowing water.

It’s just given you an appreciation

And led you to look down

Just as much as you look

Up.

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