Sometimes, he feels as if he let a huge part of his life slip right through his hands. If history is any indicator, he’s probably hit the stage where there are more years behind him than there are that lie in front. He wonders “Where did it all go?”

He spends a lot of time trying to put these kinds of demons to rest. The first family that he had didn’t pan out and even though it wasn’t easy, he walked away and left three kids and an ex-wife behind to pretty much fend for themselves. The second family didn’t really pan out either but since there was nowhere else to run to, he stuck around. The jury is still out on whether that was the right thing to do. Sometimes he thinks that life he is living is nothing but a lie.

I can hear the wheels
of the automobiles
So far away
just moving along
through the drifting snow

Another night of fractured sleep. Another night of gazing out the window, looking for either some kind of sign or excuse to make him feel the way he thinks most people already feel, like they’ve accomplished something.


He notices how quiet it is in the dead of night and how cold it gets both inside his home and inside his heart. Many times, he feels he’s not the man he pretends to be,

It's times like these
when the temperatures freeze
I sit alone
just looking at the world
through a storm window

Usually when the phone rings at 2:30 in the morning, it’s not a good sign. For the most part, it means somebody’s dead, dying or in jail. He hopes this isn’t the case and decides to let the answering machine pick it up. Maybe it’s just somebody doing a bit drunken dialing.

The voice is familiar; it’s one he’s known for over twenty five years. Oh, it sounds a little older but then again, it’s probably supposed to. The voice reminds him, not of what he’s done, but of what he hasn’t. It not an accusing voice, just one that hits home. They talk for twenty minutes or so and after they hang up, he hangs his head in shame.

And down on the beach
the sandman sleeps
Time don't fly
it bounds and leaps
And a country band
that plays for keeps

He finds sleep, once again, is impossible to come by. He grabs a beer out of the ‘fridge and settles down with an old photo album. He wonders what they are like these days and they’ve become. The voice said that they were doing good and for that he’s thankful but still, there’s certain things that one has to see for themselves in order to believe. He thinks to himself that he never meant to hurt anybody. The tears fall from his cheeks and mingle with the ring of sweat from the bottle of beer.

They play it so slow

He’d spent a lot of long nights during his life before but this one felt as if it would never end. Where the hell had the sun gone? Maybe he’d somehow done the unthinkable and managed to put it out all by himself?

Don't let your baby down
Don't let your baby down
Don't let your baby down

Indeed, don’t let your baby down. Upon some introspection he reveals to himself that most of his problems were of his own doing. Over the years, he’d let a lot of people down, himself included.

Well, the spirits were high
til the well went dry
For so long
the raven at my window
was only a crow

He didn’t always think that way though Denial is funny like that. There was always something or somebody else to blame. He’d always find a sympathetic ear or shoulder to lean on in which to tell his tale and he took some solace in the fact that these days, he was trying to do the best could. He guesses that the old saying is true. That you only hear what you want to and disregard the rest.

I bought the rights
to the inside fights
And watched a man
just beating his hand
against a storm window

Ever since the call, he’s been taking a little closer look at himself. The mirror that reflects his life is filled with cracks and the image it returns often looks like a jigsaw puzzle. He wonders if it’s too late to put it back together or if some of the pieces have gone missing for good. He hopes that they’re just hiding and if his thoughts could travel through time and space, he hopes they hear his little plea and return in one form or another.

While miles away
over hills and streams
A candle burns
a witch's dreams
And silence is golden
till it screams

He thinks to himself that two thousand miles really isn’t all that far. Not for something as important as this. He tells the voice on the other end of the phone to try and stay in touch. He offers up his e-mail address but so far his mailbox is empty.

Right through your bones

Much like the feeling he has as he tries to write this. He can’t say he blames them.

Storm windows
Gee but I'm getting old
Storm window
keep away the cold

Another battery of tests loom on the horizon. He hopes that they don’t reveal anything too serious and that in the long run, things will work themselves out.

He’ll go home tonight and gaze once again out the window. He’ll be alone with his thoughts but this time, he’ll leave the window open. He thinks to himself, "You never know what might fly in."

Lyrics to “Storm Windows” copyright Mr. John Prine

(He knows that this one really isn’t intended for a wide audience. As a matter of fact, if only three or four people read it, he'd be very happy).

CST Approved

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.