All year, every year,
I pine for you,
only to fumble and drop you,
with open hands
and absent eyes.
All year, every year,
I pine for you,
only to fumble and drop you,
with open hands
and absent eyes.
Somewhere between the climb and collapse
we sit around a fire
and talk about growing up and growing old,
about marriage and divorce
and grandparents who'll never understand,
about skipping school
but attending school reunions,
about work,
and the people who make it work,
and how our parents always made it work.
We talk about these things
and we don't talk about other things,
but mostly we talk about Joy Division and the Clash.
One day I won't remember you
Like the ones I don't remember now,
The ones that lit me on fire
And pressed on my chest until I stopped breathing
Only to release me and laugh with me like we were
The only ones who ever laughed,
The ones who stayed up late with me
And listened, listened, listened
The ones I never saw at all,
The ones I only knew as names
And words and wounds,
All these ones who were the only ones
Until they were no ones
And I was no one