Hermit crabs and cowry shells
|
Crush beneath his feet as he comes towards you
|
He's waving at you
|
|
Lift him up to see what you can see
|
He begins his focusing
|
He's aiming at you
|
|
And now he has cutaways from memories
|
And close-ups of anything that
|
He has seen or even dreamed
|
And now he's finished focusing
|
|
He's imagining lightning
|
Striking sea sickness
|
Away from here
|
|
Look who's laughing now that you've wasted
|
How many years and you've barely even tasted
|
Anything remotely close to
|
Everything you've boasted about
|
Look who's crying now
|
|
Driftwood floats, after years of erosion
|
Incoming tide touches roots to expose them,
|
Quicksand steals my shoe,
|
Clouds bring the f-stop blues
|
|
Look who's laughing now that you've wasted
|
How many years and you've barely even tasted
|
Anything remotely close to
|
Everything you've boasted about
|
Look who's crying now
|
|
-----------------
|
F-Stop Blues
|
| Jack Johnson |
