Storms Over Parades

the clouds grew dark as i rolled in.
i sat down next to a man with five empty cups in front of him.
he said, "aren't you a little too young to be alone in these parts? "
if being young means completely lost then i guess i am.
the storms carried me home over parades
the people caught colds from the pouring rain.
when you stand on this line you are not in order.
this painting is rarely framed.
at the age of six is when i started talking.
at the age of ten is when i started walking.
they told me i would never get to fully express myself
and any place i wanted to go i could only go in my mind. so?
the storms carried me home over parades.
the people caught colds from the pouring rain.
when you stand on this line you are not in order.
this painting is rarely framed.
i'll take the hands that gently sweeped across the plains of your physique
and retire them into stables with horses that no one has rode.
the planes always pass my body and cast the darkest shadow.
if i told you where i was headed, you still wouldn't follow.
the storms carried me home over parades.
the people caught colds from the pouring rain.
when you stand on this line you are not in order.
this painting has never framed us together,
i'm missing from your pictures these days.