NOTHING IS FOREVER

I no longer know where I lay my head when I go to bed. My feet are tired, and I've been up and down this highway that I call the thoughts of my mind just trying to breathe the air that was meant to be my last breath, but now my eyes are wide open, and I'm more soft-spoken.

I hear the river run, and I wonder if my river will run dry with the tears I no longer cry. Who can I call when I know that no one is home? I hold myself knowing that now I'm alone.

What words of wisdom do I hold inside of my words that may be heard or, again, they can fall on dead ears, and I would have to ask myself, who cares.

I did all of this shit to myself in the past, thinking that nothing I touch can ever last forever, but here you are telling me, baby, together, we can handle any stormy weather.

Everything is gone, and how strange it is that it all has been rearranged until the images of that reality I want are dancing in my head, and my sweet lover she's lying next to me in what now is our bed.

Is any of this forever when the scientist is telling you to tread lately, for not everything we bring to the table is carved in stone, and we may eat today but go hungry tomorrow? Close your eyes to the sorrow for those who lead must always follow.