.the mornings are short.the restless always wanna be somewhere else.that broadcaster was right.he told of the greener grasses on the other side of the fence.he warned of the days prior.the ruin and the rot.he lived it too.the liars, the thieves, the killers.we know them all.and we are of this sorry world.we bathe in the mud.the first step of humility.but the mud is also good for the dark spots under your eyes.the crying stained skin.it will rejuvenate.old people just seemed like they were always old.never did we imagine glory.but we are closer than ever.our restlessness turns into anticipation.run to the light.the shackles will break.the fence will be opened and we will fall down in the lush and moist green green grass.turner's falls are worn down.chickasaw lands are untouched.only long gravel roads.brush fires in the distance.those casino lights were blinding.parking lot was full.new york, rome, paris, london.always wanna be somewhere else.spur, galveston, brazos river, austin.always wanna be somewhere else.vail, destin, estes park, new orleans.