The Walls

I wondered, when I was younger If I would feel this way forever Or if this world would finally settle into something solid I want to be acknowledged The fact that the walls were caving in somehow seemed a kind of comfort I wanted to feel comfort Isn’t time like an improvisation Like money: sometimes moving Meaningless except for how it moves things Things feel stable as if they’ll continue to feel stable I trust that that’s a good thing Sometimes I need convincing A memory: when I was twelve, or thirteen I’d write songs close to midnight And some of those would sound a bit like this one, even back then I seem to be consistent If rootless in this half-guarded impulse I cannot find the walls I trust that that’s a good thing Sometimes I’ll need convincing