Frances Quinlan
Prior Things
Just a few minutes after taking them I realized
Hundreds of buzzing flies were all over me

I looked up and there you were, reading
You were on your own, you were on vacation
You were on vacation- vacation means "leave"
Means "obliterate all prior things"

Here, why don't I try
Why don't I try to make you mine?
Why is a lack of imagination the crime?
Why don't I try
Why don't I try to make you mine?
Why don't I back you up against this moment?

So when you finally go
And when you choose to go
I resume my little lower road
And nobody needs to know
Will know that I ever meant to leave
My little lower road

I watch the bird feeder out back in my parents' yard
The weight of that bluejay
The bully steals it all

And what must happen in your mind
When you create those silences?
Well never mind, I don't want to see
I know it's got nothing to do with me

Here, why don't I try
Why don't I try to move aside?
I'm still soft, I'm still in my prime
Why don't I try
Why don't I try to move aside
I'm still soft, it's still my time

And when you finally go
When you choose to go
I resume my little lower road
And nobody needs to know
Will know that I ever meant to, meant to leave
My little lower road
And when you finally go
When you choose to go
I resume my little lower road
And nobody needs to know
Will know that I was only holding your place on this
Your little lower road