a pleasant day is a pleasant day
regardless of history’s grip
there’s just so much of a pattern here
of going down with the ship
of being asleep in the boughs
of a tree grown tall
casting out or casting off
no truth behind a glass facade
all smoky and laced up
discreetly erased
and immediately passed to the gods
who shiver to find what to love
flags at half staff and a senator’s son

but my my my what a beautiful world
i like driving in my car
i like pretending that it’s all but in a dream
‘cause that’s how it seems to me
and when i go, i’ll go clean
scattered toward infinity
without the burden of your history