She's on her way to the Carolinas
on either a promise or a bet
We smiled and waved at the airport
and then we boarded separate jets.

She rode shotgun in my stationwagon
when I was much more than a friend.
We said we'd drive down to the Carolinas,
we said a lot of things back then.
The sorts of things you remember second hand, but now you can't
understand.

You were standing there, half asleep
from half a day spent in the clouds.
We were having a conversation,
but who remembers what about.
The sorts of things you remember second hand, but now you can't
understand.
The sorts of things that make you shake your head and smile without warning once in a while.

We were on our way to the Carolinas,
but I don't remember which one you said.
Oh, I don't mind being home, where the dead play dead and the flowers grow
but when everything comes up roses I see red.
And who's to say just when we'll go back --
on the car ride down, I was just as bored as you.
And the sky's been singing songs about how the sun's been staring for way too long, but the evil eye won't touch the color blue.
And the mailboxes
were trapping foxes
and sending them to bootcamp, parcel post.
And someday, that unsent mail
will come down on me like hail
without a return address.
Where it's from, I can only guess.

She's on her way to the Carolinas
because father time was getting old.
He waves her off to live without her while the angel of death is waiting in the cold.