[Intro] A horn honks faintly down the avenue, Plastic wheels on pavement, red and blue. Mom called out from the stoop, "Don’t go too far." The ice cream truck chased by a rusty old car. [Head] We were kings with a shoebox of marbles, Queens of the curbside chalk. Sneakin’ Oreos from the jar when nobody would talk. Days folded easy, like paper planes in July, No map, no compass—just the peach pit sky. [Solo A] (Flugelhorn glides over brushed drums, warm bass lines meandering) [Head] Then came the numbers, letters in rows, Sunday shoes, itchy collars—it’s how it goes. Golden hour turned into calendar squares, And nobody warned me how heavy it wears. [Guitar Solo] (Sultry electric guitar bends, smooth and deliberate) [Head] Now it’s coffee stains on the morning news, Bills in the mail, untied shoes. But there’s still a crayon crack in my bedroom wall, From the time I threw it too hard down the hall. [Solo B] (Piano riff weaving between upright bass, subtle cymbal taps) [Head] I let the carousel spin and step off slow, The carnival’s gone, but the music still knows. Got a pocket of nickels for a payphone call, To a voice that'll remind me of it all. [Outro] Streetlights hum as I walk back inside, The fridge still hums like it did when I was five. Childhood never left, it just changed its face, Hiding in corners, leaving traces to chase. [End]
