There are always shards of envelopes, where music can hide neat discussions of parambles/parables. What suits you, often sweetens you. You are the eyes and the slides of memory. You are the fabric at the end of day/end of time.
Whatever comes - you're ready - though rarely/truly. Still, it's the thought that counts - and we're all there with you for that one.
So the music plays and the singer pretends affection/empathy - they always do.
You are young/but you are old. You are smart and you wear a beard. You talk the talk/you stalk the stalk - it's the understanding of our age that neon wear doesn't always do what it's meant to.
So you listen/sing/hum/chant to a country song: you miss your lover/dog/mama/trailer...and it's hard...baby, it's always so hard.
Maybe you should have sat this one out...gone for a future life of a drowned world, full of mermaids and cocktails, of mermen and starfish.
Still, we live with miracles...we live amongst smiles and hairdos, amongst grins and nods, amongst whistles and construction sites. It's the modern world, where everything is at the end of a sparkly rainbow...and you've yet to hit 40...