Sunday's Best Love My Friends Hate My Life
Today I'm doing fine,
heading north on the I-5.
Just wrote to tell what I'm seeing:
beyond the frontage road,
the earth is combed in rows...
I remember that trip to City:
the day was cold but bright,
you slept through most the drive;
I watched the fog from your breathing.
You (in your navy coat) staring at the boats,
"I love how they're always leaving."
The problem with looking back
is we romanticize the past--
the Present isn't so easy.
Simple minds mean simple vice.
Love my friends, hate my life.
Are broken hearts sore to the touch?
You'll never believe...
