He's a small town guy with pretty eyes,
looking for a stream of light in the sky,
a falling star in the night.
Driving down the interstate,
the windows open and the radio
blasting,
the review mirror reflecting a kid
who's looking for release in something
other than kicking a ball or porno.
He's talking to his girl,
and wishing that they won't fight
like his parents do.
Smiling as life passes 'em by,
and laughing along,
though they don't know why.
Knowing that one day there will be no more dreams,
no more feather-soft kisses
or flirtatious disses.
For now they coast down the highway,
holding hands and wishing they could fly.
Catch that falling star,
and keep their wish in a jar,
preserved in glass.
A firefly that will never die.
A warming comfort when life lies,
and doesn't smile back.
Keep their hands cupped,
holding their wish, their firefly,
inside the black.
Keep it so it doesn't take flight,
up, up, up.
Protection for when fate decides to fight,
and destroys a tiny world.
