by tyler stenson © 2017 — ASCAP
I won’t lie, I feel the pain
When the sky is a chalkboard gray.
I won’t lie, it makes me miss the airplanes.
So, at the first sight of the sun,
We made for a blanket in the park
And laid, hips in the land
And hand-in-hand we gazed
Into the blue.
And all the storms moved on.
And only contrails remained,
Stitched in little lines.
For as big and blue as it is,
There’s just no room for clouds
In that so comfortable old denim sky.
Left behind the bad news of the day
And every bill we had to pay.
We let them air like laundry on a line.
For there’s something about a clear blue sky
That always felt like some old blue jeans of mine;
There’s a certain comfort in the way it seems to fade,
But seems to never fade away.
And all the storms moved on.
And only contrails remained,
Stitched in little lines.
For as big and blue as it is,
There’s just no room for clouds
In that so comfortable old denim sky.
I won’t lie, I feel the pain
When the sky is a chalkboard gray.
I won’t lie, that don’t happen much more these days.