He'll become a lawyer, maybe a notary
Family tradition, on his father's side
If he has trouble getting to university
He'll still finish, there are prep schools
Rebellious phase between fifteen and eighteen
He'll swear, he'll smoke weed
Acting out, a friend of his mother's
He'll love boat shoes and Mark Knopfler
The sister of a neighbor, flash, we love each other, we get married
Car, three-quarter child, roll out the carriage
Mistresses, several, no pleasure without discomfort
Divorce, midlife crisis, for a younger version of the same

Lives
Just lives, not the best, not the worst
Lows, highs, screams, sobs, fires, desires
Time that we thought we had seized
But what was left to write?
Lives where we had so little, so little to choose

He'll be a rapper, a basketball player
Boxer, sprinter, G.I. maybe
If he doesn't have the spark, dead or dealer
Nothing else on the menu of his neighborhood, his sister
Probably a mother at fifteen, classic
You escape the police, not the statistics
Another street child, born of unknown father
Who of course, understood, we continue

Lives
Just lives, not the best, not the worst
Lows, highs, screams, sobs, fires, desires
Time that we thought we had seized
But what was left to write?
Lives where we had so little, so little to choose

Time that we thought we had seized
But what was left to write?
Lives where we had so little, so little to choose

Real forgetfulness, false memories
Outbursts of anger, of heart and suffering and laughter and pleasure
The games that we thought we played
Which ones were not programmed?
Lives where we had so little, so little to write

Time that we thought we had seized
But what was left to write?
Lives where we had so little, so little to choose

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