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Ichicuts
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Middle of the Year
It's summer time and I know you need a friend,
So call up on me
If you're thinkin' that ill fit in.
I won't be busy, just be sitting
across from a bunch of bullshit off in the distance.
Hot streets are woven across Brooklyn,
They melt their way past the cut that you live in,
Out to the woods where were keepin' our hands clean.
If you were there you would probably see
The sun and
The rock band
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The movement of the pavement
As the grass splits the cement.
The mailman just stopped coming.
Now come on out to my home at the borderline
Where the single stories are to spread out to combine.
With all this distance you miss the motions and get caught slow.
Any time that you're lookin' to make a plan
You're never gonna plan how its gonna end,
So come on over and let it come slow.
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