I.
That poor bastard,
who they buried in navy blue.
The one with brown eyes,
So full of shit that any one
could see straight through.
He lived his life on lies,
he chased away each opportunity to be loved,
all of this a sacrifice,
for one step closer
to whatever hung above.
On past the moon,
and beyond its orbit 'round the sun,
on into the milky way,
where his spirit could roam,
his soul could run.
In the end,
who knows if it paid off?
Save that poor bastard
Buried in blue.
II.
His intentions weren’t always straight,
but his heart was always true.
He wanted to paint pictures,
Plant sunflowers,
pull up a park bench on the moon.
Hit the breeze,
enjoy the view.
Had it not been for all those thrills
he chased past the horizon into the mornings,
beginnings never new.
Few claimed him brilliant,
but those with two eyes knew him a fool.
A dog who chased his tail
from birth his whole life through.
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