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• Artiste: Dear Friend
• Titre: Picturebook
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Gray, rounded stones cover these streets And scold our feet with every print we leave White picket fences fade to black and Relentlessly hold the memories that we lack Tall, pepper trees send our minds to be free And mold seats for the summer heat. Short-tempered children shoot their guns At the Indians and quit games they've just begun Keen to my surroundings, I gather my own findings And write them all in this book Seen only, you doubt me, I'd rather find pictures Without me that I took of you Days when the main event is rest We try our best to make the most of it, most days With nights as cold as ice A blanket should suffice And maybe a movie or two And all I can think of are the past summers' peaceful times And all I can write down are things that remind me of this town And all I can say is I miss the old days And all I can want is you by my side I know what it feels like to be alone During summer months, I stayed at home All that I owned was a picture book to call a friend I love how you said, "I'm here 'til the end."