Marching down roads of cold swollen stones
You often come to a perch
Where the feet of friends melt the heat.
You have glad tidings for all.
You have empty glasses and side cars
Side bars, side glances, sides.
It's all very real.
And it's all very not what you thought...
When you were 7 and uttered the words, "
I can't wait until I'm older."
I'll lay you down low
Beneath my feet
With glad tidings.