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Tuesday, May 3, 2011

#123 Remembers a Cliche Place


This modern life of mine
Doesn't follow the plan
Of careful reason and rhyme
That I had all worked out back in the van

In my van down by the river
It's where I went to think
The water moved on by swiftly
And you could almost stand the stink

That van was up on blocks
Never to move again
I try not to think of what became of it
Although I think I see it every now and then

I drank my first beer
Sitting on a couch inside
When my old man wanted to whip me
It's where I went to hide

When I was fourteen
It's where I touched my first breast
Funny how I can't remember her name

That old red van
Told stories as it can
Of weeds and trees and bumble bees
Holding me in the sway of it's hand
I had no doubt of it's sincerity
For with the places it surely had been
It had the true lay of the land

Then one day
Now I remember
And it's like it happened yesterday
I came down the hill
To find it afire
All I could do is sit and cry
As my clubhouse
My hideout
My safe place
Burned itself out

So when that old line
About the "van down by the river"
Passes someone's lips
I smile
And I think of what a wonderful place
It used to be

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