He sat on the edge of his bed at midnight staring at into the night.
Straight ahead is nothing but an empty field.
Barren-a piece of the earth that the world has forgotten about.
It must have been a hundred years ago when it was something worth looking at.
Maybe one day back then; it was not the dry piece of crap it is now.
He can't see how you can possibly forget about something that's apart of you.
It's been there as long as you have-maybe even longer.
How can you just drive by it, in you? Knowing its death was your own fault.
You truly puzzled him,
Always worried about your world,
Never considering what's going on in thee world which you belong to.
Oh, you know, you never cease to amaze me.
Driving along your close-minded street, absorbed in all that's yours.
Just in case you haven't noticed, there's a world out there dying.
Waiting for you to come around.
He leaned back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling.
He had practically consumed his life with some barren field.
His philanthropic spirit, perhaps, is causing him pain.
He's connected to it-in a strange sort of way.
Maybe it's because that field was him.
I really like your work, Cars and Guitars. Keep at it!
