Wherever you go, there you are.
There you are, and there you are, and there you are again.
Words of the wise dictate that simple geography can't solve your problems, and that if you don't "work them out" (in some amorphous, intangible, ephemeral sense... what's it mean anyway? Work it out like the tangles in your hair? And where can one buy this psychic spray-can of detangler?) they'll just travel on with you.
But I know to go where the air is fresh.
It's fresh here. It's cold here. I have no family or friends here. Just a whole lot of cowboys who want to get to know me.
Boys, you can spare me the blues, I don't play in that key.
No comments:
Post a Comment