Four Years

Four years today. It definitely doesn’t get any easier. Maybe just clearer. Or something.

Full moon babies waiting tables with their mommas
Phone call dreamland, virtually distilled
Guys with boots and perfumed karmas
Visions layed out and fulfilled
Little people swaying like wheatgrass resists the wind
Caramelized eyebrows tearing up blue
Don’t know who they are or where they’ve been
And oh… don’t they feel the now is so true

– Nathan Solod, 2002 or so.

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