Boomerang

I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good,
 And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny.
 I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting.
 Had to pee when you found the best spot. Bad timing.
 Climbing a dogwood. Barking, in bloom.
 Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom.
 Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:
 Screaming "I'm fine!", but I think they all knew.
 Cause you can't hide your childhood flying dreams
 Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies
 And the clock tick-tocked. It was time to leave.
 I walked away from everyone and everything,
 And I thought when I left, that I couldn't come back.
 With that old household never home again.
 And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band,
 I began abandoning all my friends.
 All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
 Entirely divided from his hub
 Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier
 When building coverage out of rubber tyres
 Or guns out of thumbs...
 Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks
 Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf
 Ummm... It's getting cold, sugar water getting warm
 Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war
 How? All dressed up like a spider in a cup
 Hiding tiny butterflies inside his gut
 Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood
 To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge
 Space invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth
 Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt
 Or halo deep in water...
 Glub glub... wondering if running
 Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning
 Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
 Boom-er-oomerang, Boom-er-oomerang
 I went east with a hole to fill in my chest.
 I went west with it filled: off to build a nest.
 I'm impressed. I'm depressed. I'm the best. I'm a mess.
 With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast.
 And next: progress, twist, turn, digress.
 Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest.
 I missed the rest as you might suspect,
 And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet.
 A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs.
 Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun,
 So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame.
 I'm sorry that sometimes I'm so lame.
 I'm sorry that sometimes I'm a deadbeat friend.
 The worry makes me scurry into my own head.
 With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets,
 Sentimental obstacles; of course it's me not them.
 All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
 I'm four bald tires in the mud
 When it's diner food or bust
 Spiralling a sign of whats to come
 While pretending I am fine with what I've done
 I'm not, but homies that appreciate the crisis
 And treat 'em like they seen em with a second set of eyelids
 Ok, that wasn't fair, admittedly I wasn't there
 Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware
 How? All dressed up, like a spider in a cup
 Who never knew a silence so abrupt
 When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush
 First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch
 Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone
 Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs
 I headed west, planned to boomerang back
 Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match