Paint the Town Technicolor

Care filled closures lap the shoreline

Pressures laced with reasons and rules fold on all sides

The summer of '96 swelters with the crashing electrical storms internally 

The sands of time bake in windless breaths 

Gasps of freedom in pelts of exhales

The whelming we, froth in the noble nothings 

Being asked only to sleep it off

Future states older reflective sense of me inheriting the same ol' constants

Peppered hair and noir turtled to the neck

Over selling the Irish quips and goodbyes being forced to confess all to the open road.

Living in the moments 

Piece mealed as food for thought

Collaged wonders

Shared with a crowd