I grew up in Smalltown, USA,
The middle of the tri-state rush,
New York always looming
Just across the water.
Many friends, they came and went,
A piece of my heart with each.
I guess, deep down, we knew
What was all around us,
What foul creatures loomed
In the shadows around the corner.
We walked in groups and laughed
Regardless of these evils,
Because growing up in Smalltown, USA,
We didn't have much of a choice.
We were kids then,
And by all rights of the word,
We are still kids now.
We grew up making jokes
About the carjack capital
And the drugs on the street.
We all took our turns
Hiding from those cops,
Hiding from the criminals,
And hiding from each other.
It was all a game then,
Back in Smalltown, USA.
In each face there was something more
Than what our backgrounds held,
Something more than race and religion,
Something more than all of us.
We didn't care who you were,
Or who you wished to be,
Because at the moment,
The kids we were,
We lived only for today.
I guess inside I knew
Tomorrow Will ComeTomorrow will come, I know this.
How, and when, and how fast...
I don't know.
But tomorrow will come.
Maybe tomorrow will hold more rage than today,
And maybe it won't... but I don't know.
Maybe deep down inside
I really don't care either.
But sometimes the rage is like a silk rope
Tied into a tight noose around my neck.
I can't loosen it,
I can't move my arms,
And my legs dangle freely from the ground.
But I keep on livin',
I keep on going,
And tomorrow keeps on comin'.
Yesterday might be in the past,
But it will forever be in tomorrow.
Will always follow me,
Will always be where I go,
Will always be everywhere.
Tomorrow might hold some more promise than today,
It should hold some more promise than yesterday.
Everyday comes, and everyday goes,
Everyday passed and I keep on breathin'.
There's no end...
A hundred more years of the same thing,
Over and over and over.
More things I think are ridiculous,
More things I think are crazy.
But I keep on livin' through
My Mother's Garden
Roses have lined everything
Since the day I was born.
Earliest memories... color.
Every since I can remember
My mother has had that garden.
Every year the things there change
But she has always had those roses.
Every shape and every size,
Every color you can think.
Never do I recall a time
When her roses did not bloom.
I remember my dog out in the yard,
A tradition she did start;
For every summer she chose a rose
To cut her little nose upon.
And when we moved some states away
It was the same type of rose
That hit the scar for fifteen years
She proudly opened anew.
And when she died we didn't stop,
On her grave went another rose,
My mother she always chose best
And planted a Mister Lincoln
To honor the oldest scar.
The gardens have been big and small,
Sometimes with vegetables, herbs, and fruits,
Others just flowers galore.
I remember the veggie garden
We planted together, I was only four.
We grew veggies for my pets,
And grew them well we did.
Then one day, among the vines
A yellow squ