on the day I was born you were 41 my mom she was 28 and we lived together for a couple of years and everythign was great until one day you went insane and we moved to Yakima to live with my grandma
three beats, for ten beats. but that wasn't the end of you a big part of me would have much preferred to have never met you
and it was a while ago that you would come to visit me once every other week and we woudl go do fun things like go to the country fair but my favorite place was the cabin by the lake the last time I was there, I was eight
chorus: I would like to go there again maybe with you we could hunt for tadpoles climb in through the windows
and your father grandpa Watkins was the sweetest man alive he showed me all the beautiful things in Naches Heights we used to ride on four wheelers through orchards to uncle Earl's to eat cheese sandwiches and those pink pickled eggs
I found out he died a few years back i wish i would have visited him you were right about that
and it was my tenth birthday the last time you came to visit me we sat at Red Robin with milkshakes and you made a necklace for me on three strings, garnets and bones and other beads, we finished up then you said your last goodbye to me
all these memories are all i have left of this fucked up history that i can't forget
you had called to say you would be three hours late but that three hours turned into a week and then a month, and now ten years and no word...
and today you might be sixty-four my mom she is fifty-one and we all live our own lives and to me I wish you were no one, but the hardest part of reality is what seems to be between you and me