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hiraeth
i feel a hiraeth for a million different places,
'cause the homeless feel nostalgic about
empty spaces
and maybe i never slept in as warm a bed
as my fantasies lead me to believe i
slept in instead
of the cold, hard ground pressing my cheek,
while millions of nice shoes pass by
week after week
well something keeps me parallel to the floor,
and if it's my past and my memories,
i can't create more
'cause i can't go any lower than i am right now
lest to dust i return and water the soil
with the sweat on my brow
so bury me next to our childhood playground
when i'm done trying to fly though
i'm feeling drowned
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