1989 – Portugal. The Man
I was born in 1989,
All we could do.
No shakes or coughs or burst relief
Or lists of all our things,
Just minutes making minds.
I was born in 1989,
All we could do.
But the making never made,
The comers never came,
But I still felt that awful news.
It was patience that we had,
And the miles that we had left,
That held us there
Until we could let go.
I was born in 1989,
And it’ll be over soon.
No moon children or people’s sun,
No ringing in my ears
When I felt that awful news.
It was patience that we had,
And the miles that we had left,
That held us there
Until we could let go.
It was patience that we had,
And the miles that we had left,
That held us there
Until we could let go.
I was born in 1989,
All we could do.
It was patience that we had,
And the miles that we had left,
That held us there
Until we could let go.
It was patience that we had,
And the miles that we had left,
That held us there
Until we could let go.
