The Generation Lost in Space

This honey month I'm telling you don't go turning your radio on; a one and a two, should I talk to you, like the others do?

My dear old friend, it seems some days that you have let yourself go.

Allowed yourself to be overrun, overwhelmed, overtaken.

It is time to overcome.

Get yr knees up beneath the bar, I'm leaving now but I won't go far...

We all have our solutions, our advice to give that we ourselves can't follow.

And oftentimes those words aren't enough; our efforts to demonstrate the love that we silently beg to show you.

But we know that, too.

This honey month I'm telling you don't go turning your radio on, and this honey month, with the wine on your breath, and singing the same stolen song,

For a change, let's dwell on what is enough.

It is enough to dance, sing, laugh, drink, eat, touch, smile, share, talk, sigh, comfort and love.

It is enough to love.

I want you to know, I want you to know, what you don't want to know.

And did we ever tell you that we love you?

Did I ever tell you all that I love you?

And I don't want you to ever have to wonder, as I move in and out of your life, as our paths weave and cross, whether or not that has or will change because it won't.

Beneath the revving of a car, the evensong of the abattoir...

And I will race race race away from here and south to a place with a Christmas tree plagued by cats.

But don't worry, my dears, don't worry.

I will race race race back home.

Moo, you bloody choir, moo and lo, lo and moan.

The dark hum of the wind, the crescendo of this wintry storm, the ice the snow the cold are a part of this. A part of me.

I make no promises that we will stay here – rather I know for a fact that we won't.

But this is our moment. The present has not yet passed, we have not overstayed our welcome, we have not missed our opportunity.

We have only just begun.

Moo, you huddled choir, moo and lo, how the night arrives with a blow.

And it hurts, aches, tears my heart to know that we face change constantly; to know that we move in and out of this one by one.

But right now, here, today, it does not matter.

Because here we are. Here we are and we have this time, now, to make life happen.

This honey month I'm telling you don't go turning your radio on, and this honey month, already married enough, and wondering where it went wrong,

My love for this place, these people, our community and my home is something that transcends the petty swaying of the heart with the weather, with my mood, or lust, or anger, or grief.

And all of these places feel like home, I'm beginning to notice.

I know you have to leave someday, some of you soon, and some of you later, but today we can look to the joy that we share right now.

I'll make you come,
I'll make you go,
I'll make you come apart again.

Worse things have always happened.

Today is our day to make things brilliant.




Song: The Honey Month, by Augie March


Hasta luego!
Alex