dock
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Momma said there’d be days like these
The sweat on your brow
And the pain in your knees
Momma said how the world can often be hard
How the ones that you love
Can leave you with scars
My boat drifts away from the dock
I sit and watch my dreams die.
How do I say, “it is okay, you have a plan.”
You do have a plan, right?
The boat drifts to the horizon, my stomach drifts with it.
