Lime Ice Cream

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Jalon Brown

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Apologetically, I regret my mistakes
People used to know me by a different name
So it seems I lost myself along the way
Regretfully, I found him eight ways
Eight days different, I saw on his face
That he been to a place he love to erase
He told me "you're a basket case, blown gaskets ways 
People lack in space and there's not a trace of you"

I told him I just want to make Michael proud
I don't mean the one that you're think about
I mean the Michael of my house
Who is the voice I've never heard but he speaks so loud

Louder than anything I've sung
I wish I could make events undone
I wish I knew Apollo's other son
The one who played vinyl at three at night
The one who loved his daughters, his son, his wife

And I wish his daughters knew him too
Mom, if you ever hear this, this versus for you
I know there are plenty of things that he'd do
If he was here too

Look proudly at the life you've made
How his daughter grew
If only I had known this would become an excuse
For fearing the devil, for fearing to choose

A life that I think is right for me
The more I do the less I see
The more I seek the more I scream

I want to be louder than his voice
I want him to be proud when he hears my noise
The things that I do made a difficult choice harder

I wish I was a little bit smarter
I wish I was a little bit quieter
I wish I could've saved him from the dire hurt
The fiery burn

Of leaving all that you love behind
Not by choice, or state of mind
I wish I could find a way to be fine
With the fact that he's gone, and I'm out of line

I speak my mind because that's what he would do
Constantly feels like I have something to prove
But I always end up with something to lose

Respect, regret, and making the moves
I would want him to see, but keep missing the steps
Wishing these records weren't all he had left
Pictures and letters are what I love best

Would he have loved me?
If he didn't rest
In peace, I treat
My heart like a wreck
Each time I recall, it makes my soul sick

I could've been his, the kid
We live, and we'd recollect
On Music, on records, he'd have to inspect

Each of the records I own five, six, seven times
Make sure they were clean, they gleamed, they'd shine
They'd play, sound smoother than the taste of lime

Ice cream, that is, the tropical kind
I reckon we'd share it
He probably wouldn't like it very much
But that's all right

That's all right

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