two hours north of the nation's capital,
i took a break from what would be my final days
in a prison of my own making to see a friend who had said,
"hey come on over," a favorite band,
and an ex-lover's ex-lover.
and ryan said that he liked my company,
so i didn't leave that night
and stuck around for his birthday.
we rode out to the tops of the oil cans,
to a pool in the woods and i jumped in
perpetually lost and so
i made my way across the zip codes,
sold tapes to the smaller distros,
learned cliches of the drifter's ethos.
the pros and cons of being place-less.
and my friends seemed stuck.
but i didn't know what to say,
so i addressed the Chorus
and asked each voice individually.
they all said "i'm doing this for my parents,
i wish i had other choices.
it's not really what i want,
but i can't stand to be a disapointment."
and i wanted to say how at the end of the day
you're just accountable to your memories.
and if you can't lament what might have been
you'll never be a disapointment.
but i couldn't find the words somehow,
wrote down the names of the college towns,
as the dots on the map passed by.
and ryan said that he liked my company,
and though i know i never told him,
well it really meant a lot to me,
and i said i'd make a point to always stop on by.
and i know that i don't, but i think about it every time
that the greyhound glides past philadelphia.
and then the greyhound cries for philadelphia.