Old songs, from another time. Restless and always leaving, still feel the same way. Fool for the city, always slipping into the ocean. Too many things to carry these days, cameras, guitars, old friends and lovers, my ever faithful dog. My house is getting crowded, but I'm keeping everything. I just need to keep leaving so I can come back. Too many lives to live, all of them worth living, but damn how much time gets wasted in traveling, waiting, regrouping. Thank god for daydreaming, it fills those spaces just fine. If I lose touch it's nothing personal, the muses are jealous and always clamoring for attention.
