Grab your round hot pink, bubblegum pink sunglasses and hop in the long back Cadillac
Breathe in our new found freedom in the West country hills
Both of our hands on the stick shift
The smooth band on your finger is fading away
As if it was never there
"A fickle situation, going this way and that way" you would tell me
"Nothing to get worked up or worried about"
Sunlight shining through your hot pink, bubblegum pink sunglasses making rosy shadows on your squinted eyes
Like stained glass in a chapel you hesitated to walk down
Walking down an aisle where colorful shadows of prophetic stained glass would caress your face
Wind whipping wild strands of your hair from squinted rosy eyes into an up-do that would make a mother proud
She wasn't, was she?
Shushing and scolding antsy children
Whispering in hushed, shameful tones to other mothers
Read me stories of leaves on my windshield as we go flying past passerbys
Ramble on about papers you've read
Recall the theories of human life you find so fascinating
Forget the tale of your family's vicious glares
Because I cannot replace the man you left at the altar
The ghosts of his fingerprints are nothing more than goosebumps on your arms
In the absence of my hands
All that's left is you, me, and those silly round
Hot pink, bubblegum pink sunglasses
I gave you on your sixteenth birthday
The West country sun fills the long back Cadillac with a warmth
Sending the cool, refined ghosts our past
Into the withering shadows
Their clean cut nails clawing at the taillights in an animalistic manner
That we're both desperately exhausted of seeing
Your gentle fingertips tracing the breeze
Palms to the sky as if we were on a roller coaster
With a new found freedom filling our lungs
On a highway of answerless questions in the West country hills
You watch the blue sky pass us by
But I can't help to wonder
What color is the sky behind your hot pink, bubblegum pink sunglasses?