You find me older wanting to be young
You find me ready for the world and
For the dung, for to know you is all
That would matter,
The smoking flax, down
On Colfax, down in the downtown,
Where I made a loud sound, over
Chicken, over fingers, over all that
Lingers–why does He not speak to me?
Why shall I not rest, not sleep,
Not stop the flame that claims my
Name–I am just a memory
And death will be too, to all that
Don’t call upon you–the flame
Will be a smoking screen,
And not a dead American Dream–
Choices God, Denver God,
Interstate days are done,
For Fort Fun is where is began
But now I am older and accoutable
And no longer popular at school
I am just a fool if I forget Denver,
Forget colfax–I will hear you!
I will wait for you!