11. IT'S RAINING AT INDIAN WELLS
do you remember when you were twenty-two
did you know more than everyone else back then too
or is this something recent that came with age?
my face is your face and my hands are your hands
but my blood's something different you can't understand
if you cut to the nerve i doubt you'd find a trace
we can never go home
we can never go home, can we?
we are bricks and we are bones collected in memory
and we're a waking dream
and we have been known to creep like ivy
through the cracks in the building where we once used to sleep
(there are horizons i'll never see
but as much as i want to leave, i'd rather be
show me the door and tell me to be still)
i'm still waiting to awaken to older and wiser
but the things that i've started since my youth has expired
leads me to believe that wiser never comes
see, i'd take a father who's a drinker with a ten-penny temper
over someone who believes that his words haven't mattered
i know you'd build back this house if it were the right thing to do
we can never go home
we can never go home, can we?
we are bricks and we are bones collected in memory
and we're a waking dream
and we have been known to sleep
in the beds of the building where we once were a family
(from here, we shine through the dark
we were electric works of art
displayed in a building now condemned)
ten years too long to figure out
there's not too much left in this house to skirt around
in the cold of this midwestern winter, we owned up
and i'll drive away with what i can
but as much as my heart is here, i'll understand
mistakes can make a family
but a home is built on trust
(were we home?)
