Sorting through my things
See what I can find
Picking through the past

See whats left behind

Multi-colored sweaters

That moths have eaten holes
A paire of breaded mocassins with worn out soles


Boots were made for walking
Winds were blowing change
Boys fall in the jungle

As I came of age

Black and white tv

With a broken 12-inch screen
Dylans highway 61
And jackies love machine


I reread your letters and again
I cry great tears

Light comes to the surface
Even after all these years