From the desk of FR

So I was looking through my desk at work today and found this scrap of paper. I’m not sure what it was supposed to be or whether or not it was done, but I’m posting it anyway.

As I walk to school, with rocks under my feet
And a backpack swinging loosely on my shoulders
Filled with books, filled with thoughts
And they’ll both weigh me down until I’m free when I get older
Teacher says to me, “what do you want to be?”
I say, “a cowboy, or a singer, or a thief.”
She says, “they’re all about the same, playing childrens games”
It’s time to grow up, it’s getting colder

But the song carries on, even after you’re gone
And the life you lead is just a measure
In a masterpiece, for god to see
While the angels sing the notes of our madness

So I kick a stone and try to hum along
To a tune that has yet to be written
Given to me by an autumn leaf
That didn’t want the music to die.


About fathomlessregression

I am a musician, writer, painter, brother, husband, and father. I have more questions about life than I do answers, and spend the majority of my time exploring the infinite number of possibilities that exist. This is accomplished through my art, music, writing, and most of all through conversation. View all posts by fathomlessregression

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