dear blake,

a cabin in the mountains,
way up, further north,
far beyond all the phone lines
and the passing cars amongst the pines;

the snow falls like summer,
the one you saw last fall,
disillusioned with the world
and all those jaw-breaker girls;

your guilt-ridden crows'-feet
betray your cigarette smile,
and you're beautiful and sad,
but you're all that i have,

and i'm not even sure i have that much,
so listen close or you'll miss it:
i know that you will overcome someday.
you call in sick but you won't stay that way.