The priming. The experience.

There is something familiar about this place,

when I close my eyes...

I could be anywhere, but I'm the same.

Location does not change me. The miles have not morphed me,

into a world weary sun, the son is the same and the days are mostly August dust.

And though I trace long lines across the place, and I the mountains become plains

I'm feeling very much the same.

Judging the past and predicting the future, as if I've been there before. Cause, honestly, this is feeling like the past, therefore the future will feel like... So I know what's in store.

The end is somewhere in there too. So maybe I should do more, be more, love more, talk more, think more, write more, appreciate more, fix more, see more, and run more many many miles. Maybe I'll feel different, and not be the same, or accept my "same" or something, before I go.

Maybe I'll create something to leave behind, cause where I'm going I cannot return. And it is sad, cause I don't think I'll see you there--I hardly knew you in life. But maybe when I travel the distance that has no measure, we can sit and talk?

Cause I am what you'll leave behind. And maybe we just sleep. Then I'll never know. Never change. Be the same while I sleep forever.

Maybe I we should sit near the lake and talk in the sun soon. Cause your head is silver, life is making your heart tired. You can only expect it to toil for so long.

Toil on.

And I'll be here, far away. The same.