There's my big brother, Summer's Child,
wearing no shoes and acting wild,
With dirty hands and skinned up knee,
up in the leaves of an old oak tree.
I guess back then we thought it'd never fade,
Our childhood diamonds shining in the shade
But just as sunrise meets sunset gold,
us dead end kids will find were old,
And gone will be the nights of feeling mean,
pin pricking June Bugs off a screen,
The days of dirty rings around our necks,
washed in the water of a clear rock pits,
Pant legs caught in greasy bike chains,
and all those kids with crazy names,
Butt Builder, Butt Wipe, Toilet Tissue,
Wash Tub, and Mud Turtle Brown
Faded with our airboat in the yard,
whisky drinking men with poker cards,
Outdoor bathes in galvanized tubs,
Rhode Island Reds and selling Chubs,
With dad's Winchester never getting old,
for shooting old burn barrels full of holes,
And an old black scooter with a wheelbarrow tire,
baby gators in a tank, and the cage of wire,
Yes, gone are all those days on the brown New River,
Old Beck Beach, and pee smoking fire to deliver,
Yes, all those hyacinth crawling, name calling,
hound dog barking, sky larking days
Oh, how fleeting were they, those years,
Gone away now, if not for the salt of our tears,
Or maybe they just blew away in the breeze,
high in the fronds of our Royal Palm Trees.
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