Here we are, kid.

I wrote a song for a film called lightning/bug.

The film and details about it are on my site here. Hopefully finished in time for Mother’s Day, our first without Sandra Sue. This film is dedicated to her, but it’s also for Shannon, Sheri, and so many of the amazing humans I am grateful to call family and friends. And the unique light they share.

They wanted to run but stayed anyway.

A man should not be this blessed.

— Derek.

Here we are, Kid.

@Deekers on Suno

Here we are.

Came all this way, must be something to say.
Sun-kissed tea sweatin from a porch, stolen.
Sky all swollen, all knowin.
Many dents on this damn frame, ain't it a shame?
Oh well, here we are, kid. Here we are, I kid.
Crack the lid.

She wanted to run somewhere far.
A shootin star, look at her glo-glo-glowin.
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Here we are, kid, it's showin.

Gotta master plan; wonderin bout a tin man.
Bolts chasin the wheat, or is it the cheat?
Forgot how to sleep; worryin without a peep.
Here we are, boss, looks bleak.
But here we are, ain't nothin neat.

She wanted to run, run, run. Somewhere far.
In the wind again, that familiar friend.
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Well here we are, kid.

You gotta go home, get outta that chair.
I'll give you a ride, sit shotgun there, it's only fair.
Don't go it alone, chuck an ole dog a bone.
Shit's bout get lit, doggone it.
Cuz here we are, kin. Here we are, kin.
With all the pretty sins.

She wanted to run. Somewhere far.
Feet free, soarin. Feels so foreign.
Who needs high when you can go double wide?
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Wanted to run. She wanted to run. Wanted to run.
So flip the fuckin switch, find the pitch.
Sounds a howlin, that train whistlin, sis.
Here we are, growlin.

Son of a young gun, run.
Last or once more, for fun.
Nother run just begun.

Run, our Kansas goldbug.
Catch ya and grab a hug.
Wavin wheat says bye, it's a lie.

You won, kid.
Runnin, tag, you're it again.
Gunnin, criss-cross, hot willful wind.
Runnin, somewhere far, off course.
We'll gaze tonight from the porch.
Run, kid, shoot them stars.

Here we are.