He's going, he says; my heart hopes that he won't.
Days pass, nights. He's going, he says,
...but he stays.
Today he called, are you home?
I will stop in to say goodbye
No,no, I say, a quiet whisper, please don't go.
Why must he go out into that wild unknown,
to a far country, so different and strange,
toss himself out there to ride the wild wave of his story?
If he were as others are, I wouldn't worry , wouldn't mind;
but he's not as others are, satisfied with the mediocre,
satisfied to live a life that rides an even keel, a job, a wife,
a child in arms to hold...no, he searches for the crest,
to feel the adrenaline rush of danger, danger, danger...
We're a long time dead.
