I broke into a construction site and climbed the highest cranenI put my arms around its neck and felt its joy and pain.nAnd I knew then that is like me was made of blood and bonesnparkas gloves apartment windows buzzy telephones.nI whispered that I loved it and I heard it ask me whynI only held it closer, said because you're of existence, and so am I.nSee, the very best things about things are the people they remind us ofncause everything is made with hands and hands are made with love.nnI keep love wrapped around me like a secondhand blanketnkeeps me warm but I rarely stop to thank itnI wanna be the wind between skyscrapers when I grow up.nnBut they say this displaced affection only makes me more alonentoo broke to have adventures and too bored to stay at home.nBut if I learn to love no one the whole world's love is minenshining off the power plants and with me all the timenwith corporations at my heels saying gotta grow up, sunshine.nnWhen you grow up you own the world, oh what a thing to benreflected in their cataract eyes with a cell phone and a brief case I see me.nnVivian I write you letters from my hometown bednthose songs we used to sing on tour still playing in my head.nWhen planes go by I imagine its you coming, so we can meetnI'll introduce you to the rusty bulldozers in the field across the street.nAnd when the winter covers them they look like dinosaursnfilled with pretty wisdom still and only mine and yours.nnBut if you can't afford a ticket, or in case you miss your flightnall I ask is that you send me pictures of those city lights at night.nnJust know that when they bury menthe flesh that was my hands will nourish the soil of a tree.nAnd the rain will fall down on it even when its small and weaknuntil it grows up tall and strong like my body could never be.nAnd I'll finally be beautiful until the loggers cut me downnI'll be made into a spiral notebook and they'll ship me to your town.nAnd I'll wind up in the spare bedroom at your parents' housenwhere you still come to write sometimes, is it me you're thinking about?nAs proof I'll always hold your thoughts no matter where you arenand the part of my trunk that was my heart will become some kid's guitarnso I can write...nn...another mediocre acoustic songnthat's really about nothing and the chords are played all wrong.nBetween gravestones and water towers where you find where you belongnI hope you find where you belong.