In the autumn of our summer years,
black coffee and yellow tea,
and the bitter dregs leaking through our teeth

Half a thought and half a memory,
half an opener, half a knife,
half a mind to move to the east coast and start anew,
but I won’t

It’s not my mind growing out in the unweeded yard
It’s not the cherry tree pink of a cartoon heart
It’s not the slate gray of instinct and fear of the dark
No, it’s just love, stupid love,
stupid love

In the spring of our thawed resurrection
I saw a wren fly into our house,
and the poor thing, all callow and lightning, can’t find its way out

So it found its way up to the attic
and I found my way up to it,
and as I watched him sing I thought I heard children and winter hymns
Maybe I did

It’s not the fruit on the sidewalk, all trampled and rot
It’s not the rattle of knowing your life’s yet to start
It’s not the fearing of someday not playing a part
No, it’s just love, stupid love

Tired and pleased,
you’re standing in line at the grocery store smiling at me
Or bored, unbound, and seen?
Who gives a shit about freedom if that’s all it means?
Do you know what I mean?

In the winter of our winter years
I burrowed awful deep,
and the gas line started leaking and put me to sleep

And I dreamed of all of the fallow fields
that I felt with my naked feet,
and I wondered, “how much race is there left to complete?”
I don’t know

It’s not the end of the line that I’m frightened to reach
It’s not the ethereal ringing of all that could be
It’s not the coldness of silence or blindness of heat
It’s not the pages and pages of menu I’ve seen
It’s not the traction of loss or the people I meet
It’s not the figs that all wasted and fell from the tree
No, It’s just love, stupid love,
Stupid love
No, it’s just love, stupid love,
Stupid love
No, it’s just love, stupid love,
Stupid love