Random iPod second-line poetry

I think it was December
She couldn’t ever sing any better
And lies in the meadow with her hands tied behind her back

Don’t you feel like breaking out
If you want to fly, push your doubts aside
I will follow you into the sun
That is all that I can do
Like I’m talking through the wires of a telephone

But I’ve known many who would gladly swim to get to where you are
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you
I am sorry to tell you it never gets better or worse*

It’ll come clear
But his brain was in his ass
In the drunk tank
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes

*the second line of, yes, This Is Hell by Elvis Costello. This song is stalking me.

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