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