Crazy Weather
crazy weather, he says with a shake of his headand a stomp of the boots I bought him last year
like meeting on this street was a chance and not fate
I can always smell him when he is near
a mixture of basements and sickly sweet weed
or maybe that smell he gets when he draws
but there's something about the air that's different
and out comes my heart and in come my claws
I see him and see blue I think cry I think hide
listening to counting crows in my car in the rain
but I melt like the snow on the dirty curb
I love the way he says my name
and a look in his eyes that I used to run to
fell through the sewer grates beneath our feet
maybe it was the drugs, I think, or the vodka
or maybe it was me
I have to get off of this road and away from him
like a crack addict and a dealer its no good to be friends
I want him and hate him and love him and wish he
was the way I assumed he had always been
til I found the papers in the desk in that room
the ones about california and hospitals and medicine
"back to the center," he said and he look afraid
now they drained him of drugs and me and everything
there was something I used to dream of when I saw him
he was my idol, influential and corrupting
more important than the beatles or jimi hendrix
he came into my life interrupting
and now he's a shell like those old men you see on the street
he's holding up, I suppose, but his eyes are red rimmed
something about him has dimmed
something about him has given in
