They are working on the wires between here and the island,
and I couldn’t talk to you for a couple of days.
I hate the salt air, the water, and the sand:
they conflict with all of my ways.
You can’t grow anything in this dirt.
There’s not enough worth in it to make anything grow.
And when spring comes around I feel the hurt
and the longing for the times I used to know.
They took away all the things I remember:
my grandmother and snow in December.
They thought I wouldn’t miss it much,
but where is the cold and knowing touch
of all the things I had to leave behind?
You love this evil place. I know you do.
This tourist trap town is a part of you.
Whereas I was torn away from the only good I can recall,
you and this place will never be separated at all.
I guess I should have let go of my fear
and I guess I am jealous and I envy you, my dear,
because I am sick of always saying good bye.
Am I a fool to ask silly questions (or maybe a fool all the time)
and expect better answers from a young man in his prime?
Have you come to realize I am more naive than I seem?
That there are things that make me shudder at night when I dream?
You’ll kindly make up some good excuse so I don’t feel too bad,
and you’ll can be the only good mistake that I have ever had.
But please, not for me to feel loved, but just to feel alright,
wrap your arms around me for one more dark night,
and I’ll pretend we are stars up in the sky
that lovers ponder with the change of tides,
you and I, you and I.
At least I know, whether good or bad,
what things have had me, and what things I’ve had.