Calling Old Friends

Those roads that stretch ahead of us, the roads that led us
 here; singing traditional renditions of the songs we sang 
last year.
And though these times have made us stronger, the outcome's
 no more clear.

Calling old friends to make sure they're real, talking, 
talking just to feel that sense of home you lost when you 
left last year. Distance is just numbers on a dashboard, 
hours thinking about nothing but the transmission stutter 
you fear.

I remember what you whispered in my ear, and all the things
 we tried so hard to never have to hear, like "kids tighten
 up, start saving for the golden years."
Well, hey, that picture it fades day by day and the 
outcome's not so clear.

Don't think I'll see you around this winter, and my 
tongue's stuck full of splinters; 'cause I'm embarrassed to
 admit what I've been thinking.
Well, hope keeps some afloat, but for me it's no life boat.
 The tighter I hold on the deeper down I'm sinking.

Tried to put my finger on it but gave it my whole arm. 
Reached out with good intention, but it only did more harm.
 Find ourselves alone since the day we're born, so we seek 
someone to sew sutures in the places where we're torn.