Wax Poetic

Crash

25 August, 2011 (12:00) | Wax Poetic

I’m a mile away from your bedroom door

I wanted to get close, but I can’t go anymore

There’s caution tape around the 1 mile radius

of the crash site that claimed the life of one of us

How vividly I can remember the events of that day

And I thought that we both escaped unscathed

But the next morning the newspapers read

“Fatal accident leaves 1 man dead.”

Maybe if I duck under the tape

And slowly get closer to where I met fate

I’d still find my heart slowly beating and clinging to life

And I could call the paramedics, and give it CPR

Or drive it to the hospital myself if it wasn’t too far

Where they would get the crash cart, screaming “we’ve still got a chance”

One more chance to revive the romance

Between a guy who loved a girl more than he should have

Between a girl and a guy who did less than he could have

To save himself from dying in a unforeseen accident

But he didn’t, and the doctors will say they can’t

Because taking the heart away from where it was

Closer to your heart, and your rushing blood

Was what was keeping it alive, and I never knew

Your heart was keeping mine alive too.

So I’ll stay here, pumping gas in my car

My body facing your direction from afar

And I’m trying to look through all of these houses and trees

Virtually flying, imagining everything in transparency

Until I reach your bedroom, where I’ll stop and knock

And maybe you’ll answer and maybe you’ll not

Maybe your music is too loud, and you’d never hear

The sound of my heart beating, no matter how near.

I snap back to my car as the handle finishes pumping

Deep breath in, and I get a small hint of something

Besides the gasoline, there’s something else in the air

Something that reminds me of the smell of your hair

Back in my car, back on the highway I drive

Never knowing if I’m dead, or just barely alive

And as I pass the road to your place

I’m the only one turning my face

Away from the site of that terrible crash

Where wreckage is being hauled away as trash

The wreckage of what I was trying to build

But I never got to finish before I was killed.

And maybe next time I come down this way

A new structure will stand in its place

Built by a man, whose blue prints you approved

Or maybe, once all the wreckage is removed

A memorial will be built in remembrance of me

And when it’s done, the newspapers will read

“Woman builds memorial for lover lost in fatal accident.”

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