Frogs

And I saw you
Standing on a black top edge
And I knew you
Would rather die than be here
But I stopped you before you could jump away
It's alright, frogs weren't meant to fly away
Not for long

But February brought another night and a week
We posted songs, most of yours still have regrets
And March made me wonder if anything at all will even matter
When I can't even catch my breath
And I'm scared to death that I can't make it up to you

So suppose it's six years later
I'm a poet in New York City
Leading clinics at some typical cafe scene
And I've made a pretty penny as a poet New York City
Writing stories of all my friends and the shit they've seen
And suppose I'm pretty certain that at some point I lost my conscience
And monetarily gained from their exploits to pave my way
And suppose it's no coincidence that I'd have a premonition
That this would happen and leave me hopeless to serenade

The diner waits
But you should take this message, I'll be late
I think I lost the words I was gonna say
And my feet froze to the pavement outside your place

So suppose I'm feeling forty within the bounds of twenty-seven
And I have nothing to show but to hope for when I'm dead
And suppose it's serendipitous that I'd have three kids in Michigan, live in Philly
And see them each and every chance I get
But suppose it manifests itself
I admit that I still love you, become a teacher, and lose hold of everything I have
And suppose around election time I dissolve to independence
And vote Republican for the sake of all of my checks

And it's closing time
But you sure made a mess of yours and mine
I think you should help me clean up before you drive
'cause your breath still smells like birthday cake and wine

So let's forget
The sweetest part about you and how you laughed
I barely had to mention a cigarette
And helped you walk outside right before you left