I hope you know the moment
You turn your back to me
That I won’t stay here standing
Patiently watching you go.
I grew tired of this town
More than a few days ago,
Now I just want to see a fire,
Flames replacing that once-sacred glow.
We couldn’t keep things high
Skipping lines we don’t want to see,
Forgetting what we once knew,
Before our times on Third and Main.
In time I’ve finally learned
That spacemen locked in suits
Up there amongst the stars,
They still don’t even know their names.
Remember when, you and I,
We lay on the hill, drinking until
We swore to stars above, well
We swore we’d make them hear
But baby, the stars can’t hear,
But fuck if we didn’t yell anyway,
And for all those promises yelled,
We shoulda just kept things high.
I thought I needed a cigarette,
Some silver smoke to clear my head.
You screamed at me that night,
So it turned out I needed three.
We couldn’t keep things high
Skipping lines we don’t want to see,
Forgetting what we once knew,
Before our times on Third and Main.
It might have been Fall,
But you moved in in Spring,
Taking hold of a tiny flat
Four floors above Third and Main.
Bradley Robb likes TV and books, and has an intense dislike for cinnamon. Once, Bradley stopped a Soviet T-60 with his middle finger. Bradley writes speculative fiction and edits Fiction Matters, and never really got the hang of talking about himself in the third person.