Summer on Sunday
It’s the first day of summer and the only thing I can only think to do is walk by water.
We’re waiting for a train to pass and you dare me to jump on just like any other person I’ve waited with.
The thing I like about you is that you never ask what I’ve been up to.
We are humbly content to be together despite the time we spent with another.
Heading down to the lagoon, it’s a quarter past noon and I can tell we just missed the flowers bloom.
You just laugh as you read the graffiti on the dock and I stand behind you and start getting it to rock.
The water’s pretty shallow and I just saw a pebble that might be worth rolling up my pants for.
It might be pretty hard to swallow but I’m not the little rebel you would lap dance for anymore.
Poor little Janet lost her bracelet and you put it on my wrist.
In the back of my mind I have the intention that she is someone I’ll find and it’s the only thing she’s missed.
We move down past Alcoa and the rain is coming and we listen to the ting of the droplets off metal houses.
Finding sanctity in the trees you show me a closer look at the Mississippi when it’s flooded.
I’ve never seen swamp lands and it’s a little rugged,
but it’s kinda nice sizing up the palms of our hands here.
I fall in love with this town every summer a little harder
And it’s nice to still have you as a loving partner.
I’ll listen to the stories you told me last time I was back.
There’s no worries when we share cigarettes in a bubble bath.
I watch the ashes float down to the drain and hope that all my nights end in rain.
Sitting in the car with someone to love it doesn’t really remind me of any pain.
The hot fog in the back seat is something like a dumb dog locked up in the heat.
I can open up the window for that cigarette if you don’t mind getting a little wet.
I wipe my forehead of all the sweat and know in my heart, this day I won’t forget.