This is skin, you can wrap all of your arms and legs in
An address that you know, an envelope unfolds
I'm writing to catch up, we were small when we last met
But the letters are unread, she's heard it on ca**ette
Taught to read and write at such an early age
The pa**enger is still, because she's got books on tape
I'm running to catch up to that old VW
You're leaning out the back
You've never heard of fiction
You've never heard of fact
Way back when, we met because my parents knew your parents
Steady hands, easy breath
Old east side, parading all the rooftops of this town
Little kids, intrepids
I'm running out of space so let me sum this up for you
I'm only wishing well
And though you won't believe me
This coming Thursday evening
Is our Centennial