When I was 16, I couldn’t get enough to give it for free, I was:
Green smoke and ash
A calculated crash
Saver of the trash in a breaking home
Sideways and sly
And dead ends alive
The snaking springtime lie inside my throat And my face is not frozen in time
It has correction lines
It bends a little in the light and goes onWhen I turned 25, I found another way to feel half alive, I was:
Pacing the floor
One hand on the door
Burnt down, broken, poor and hungry too;
Rainy day grey eyes and a
Boy of my own kind
Some I left behind, some I carried throughAnd our faith is not frozen in time
We get correction lines
We bend a little in the night and go onWhen I turned 31, another part of me was coming undone, I was:
Bruises and scars
Hopelessly far
Stay where you are and don’t look down
Soft spots and bones
And another dream of home
Laid out on my own in frozen townsYeah my place is not frozen in time
I have correction lines
I move a little to the right and go onNow older, I understand
Oh yes I guess my grief is a man, I’m all:
Blue calm and fear
And playing it by ear
The sleeping engineer drifts off the tracks;
And this leaning spire
This smoking little fire
This wound and knotted wire’s all white and blackAnd our grace is not frozen in time
We get correction lines
We bend a little to the light and go on[**a correction line is a bend in a prairie road, heading north-south, to correct for the fact that lines of longitude curl towards the poles. They occur every 24 miles, and enable the road to continue to face true north]

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