Past The Streetlights

Six blocks by nine blocks,

that's the whole map I was given,

and it held a hundred people

who would give me their last dollar.

But I climbed the fire escape at seventeen

just to see how far the lights ran out,

and out where they stopped,

something in me stood up.

And I've been half a person in two places

ever since that night —

Somewhere past the streetlights

there's a version of my life

I'll never meet unless I go.

Somewhere past the streetlights.

But the ones who taught me everything

are standing on this corner —

so how do you leave a good place?

Nobody wrote that song.

Mama says, "Go on, go on,"

and her hands say something else,

and she means them both completely,

and I've never loved her more.

And the boys who stayed ain't smaller,

and the boys who left ain't bigger,

that's a lie the leaving ones tell

so the leaving don't hurt so bad.

So I'm going, and I'm keeping,

and I'm carrying it all —

Somewhere past the streetlights

there's a room I've never sat in

with a life I have to try.

Somewhere past the streetlights.

And these six blocks will be right here,

and I will be right back,

and my accent's coming with me

and it isn't up for trade.

Somewhere past the streetlights,

somewhere out beyond the lamps,

I'll build a thing and bring it home.

Somewhere past the streetlights —

and I never once looked down here,

not for one second, not one time.

I looked out. There's a difference.

I hope you always know the difference.