He’s the intrepid one, holds fast to all he knows. Watch him as he tries to grow. He runs faster than anyone. He’s the intrepid one, arrived here on his own. He doesn’t trust. He doesn’t trust. He doesn’t trust anyone. He grew up fast and he grew up strong. Without a dad it don’t take long. On a priceless gust of wind, holding tight to his carpet ride, he was swept away, come to his new home.

He can’t remember what it was like In his past life. He can’t remember his past life, what it was like before he held his first knife.

He hates the things they say to him, shouts from beneath their bridges. It’s chaos and it’s heartbreak and he’s only twelve years old. He knows the forecast and he needs some bread now and he held the key once in a dream that washed away. And he built a wall, but they’d never let him anyway. They never loved him anyway. They made him run there anyway. His spirit’s gonna fade away if magic don’t come soon. His head is harder than anyone and he’s seen the deep maroon. He’s seen blood and fear, stole the key to his life story. His eyes dried up at fourteen and he prayed they’d just ignore him. He let loose cannons and he met his love, and he blew it and he lost it and tried to get above. Sticks and stones, broken molds, lost cause, lost hope. He lost home and he found home and he’d never be alive again.

He can’t remember what it was like in his past life. He can’t remember his past life, what it was like before he held his first knife.

He’s the intrepid one. These little kids need him now. It’s time to be the big man. It’s time to be the one. He’s the intrepid one. He leads them into battle. Saddle up, kid, put your work boots on. Loved a girl once, and he knew they’d be together forever, but the weather couldn’t resist. His lonely Sunday morning when his storm arrived… It’s probably best he can’t remember her as he looks this pirate right into his eyes.


from The Dear Old Days When I Could Fly, released October 25, 2013



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SLIGHTLY Colorado Springs, Colorado

Hello there. I'm called Slightly. I make what many call "Rock and Roll," and one man inexplicably called "Neo-Ecclectic Bimodal Chip Talk." If you are reading this, odds are you are a close friend or my mother. And that's okay. I'm no big deal.

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