I haven’t given up – I’m just moving slow and that’s okay.
Most nights, I’m dreaming that the earth as caved in- and somehow I survive.
Then the music stops playing somewhere – If I could believe,
Yes I believe, my life’s not done.
My words are prayers to the lips of the sky.
My tears wash my pain back into alleyways – side by side
Street sweepers, old folks and dreamers like me.