Out of Here

I have a desk cluttered with the memories of people I have been;
Pictures and papers, significance worn thin,
Because after years of driving these same streets
All sentiments feel obsolete.
You can see it in my clothes, my hair
And the breathless longing in my stare
That before my dreams all disappear,
My love, I must get out of here.

This town is caged by solo cups of beer
And mathematics with answers too clear.
So I cling to these phrases who
Hold me close and usher me through.
I step over the hopeless debris
And let these words set me free.
Without them this would be too much to bear
And so, my love, I must get out of here.

There is a weight to these words I never felt before,
A fear setting in, impossible to ignore.
Because those who grow here become rooting in the ground;
Lost in pine trees and the old, familiar crowd.
So if you see my closing my door,
Turning my back, and setting out for more
Wish me luck and do not hear
Because, my love, I’m getting out of here.