Always lead back the same steep road
Back to my sophomore year, not yet sure of anything
You slip me back in the palm of your hand
I'm quicksand, engulfed in the essence of dissolving in midair.
Magic trick, word play, this all ends the same
You are a frat boy now. Toga parties, keg stands you are a college lad.
I reflect on our younger years, i'm reappearing,
My motive is to be reflected
On the years that are now shrunken into morsels
Pieces of the past, meant to be put back together
Memories can be cruel. The road is getting easier.
I collect into a solid figure and kiss the past goodbye with my movement.