Makeshift Lullaby For Sarah (the Big Years)
It's amazing to me how, out of all my memories,
you're the only one that won't fade with age.
And after eighteen years have passed,
your tiny shadow is still cast
over a set of scenery that remains the same.
I still have that dream
where we walk the city streets and rant,
back and forth, on and on, about everything.
But at the end of each one,
I look up and you're gone,
and I'm left here
with nothing more than a memory.
It seems to hit me more
as the "big years" come and go
and I find myself reaching milestones
that I now have so much more to prove
than any one man can strive to,
because I have to live twice as hard
for the life that never came to you.
I still have that dream
where we walk the city streets and rant,
back and forth, on and on, about everything.
But at the end of each one,
I look up and you're gone,
and I'm left here
with nothing more than a memory.
In every single one of those dreams,
I fight for every second longer I can stay asleep,
because I know with every bit of certainty
that I have precious little time for you to see
the life that I've lived,
how much things have changed since we were kids,
and I'd hope that somewhere, somehow,
that you'd be proud of me.
I still have that dream
where we walk the city streets and rant,
back and forth, on and on, about everything.
But at the end of each one,
I look up and you're gone,
and I'm left here
with nothing more than a memory.
