I've always felt that life's a sinkhole
Swallowing each day I get to give
But the older I get, the more it feels like the American west
Something empty and clean, new as an egg
Now filled with great mountainous things that I've made
Like friends I've let hang in the wind
I hear them rattle on each other, I wish I had an older brother to intone
Some night music that gets in my bones
To remove every trace of the places I've known
Some days I feel like a well-received tourist
Some days a guest that just won't leave
One day an acre of trees
Then a little wicker wreath
If you strobe in between you see no change
But in an elemental way they're not the same
One could argue there's some growth in decay
But that's a cruel way to be kind, a lever for the weak of mind to tip big stones
Into the vacuum of being alone
To warm up the hearth of a place that's no home
Oh what a load; what heavy lifting
That light through cracks from ground that's shifting
You find yourself beneath a bridge, the rafters above about to give
Someone whistling above you and you know the next pitch
Think you better start bracing for when you're not some new kid
I've always felt that life's a sinkhole
Swallowing each day I get to give
But the older I get the more it feels like the American west
Something that's always clean, no matter the age
Now filled with great mountainous things that I've yet to make