Docks

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the days in Wilmington, the days in Chicago
I miss my brothers…
Let us talk about the art of fighting
Let us talk about the art of loving

A wild time, a wild training
Frowns turned to smiles
Growing pains seemed to go on for miles
What a strange and wonderful time

Music in the house, music in the studio
We played into the night
We never seemed to get it right
It always came back to us two

What will come into view?
Will I be solo?
Or will we band together 
And finally see this through

Ships of relation, sailing the spiritual sky
I have to ask, are these contracts done?
Were those really goodbyes?

Will I be alone?
Will we band together?
Will a new band form in different weather?

Whatever it may be, I wish I could see
Those standing on the docks
Those that are waiting for me.

-Andrew

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