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Borrowed Fades in Borrowed Shades
She stepped out in new-faded jeans.
Raindrops streaked through her hair.
Main Street lights kept breaking down,
Like stars that weren't quite there.
Her denim felt like old friends.
Soft where life had once been there.
Some where she wanted to be, over again.
As the night draped over the fire escapes
A young man watched her walking.
His own blues stark as night.
Sharp as Sunday morning shoes.
Not a crease or wrinkle in sight.
He said, "I like your old blue jeans."
She laughed, "Son, take another look"—
Half the fades seen better days;
Half the memories came forelooked."
She touched the fray on one knee.
Ran her hand along the seam.
"You can sand 'em down with pumice now.
Or stone-wash 'em to yesterday;
Fade 'em pale with lemon juice.
It's easier to drink a past,
Than slowly earn your own."
You can fake the faded colour...
You can't fake the miles.
The drunks were preaching heaven.
Like rent was never due.
A saxophone kept wailing.
To a blue cattle dog baying the moon.
The busker missed the heartache.
Someone missed their train.
Everything was wearing out—
Everything else was set on pretend.
In the driving rain.
You can fake the faded colour...
You can't fake a mile.
Nobody falls for brand-new faded denim.
Not from near or far, not for long.
The finest blues are weathered;
The deepest truths are all well-worn songs.
Some scars are stitched for fashion,
Some come one worn thread at a time.
You can fake a faded colour...
You can't fake a faded life.
Old faded blues
Faded lives, faded dreams.
Going at the seams,
Full of holes and stale tears.
Nothing's quite the way it seems—
Some fades take years.
Some hearts wear easy,
Some take years to blue.
You can buy the faded denim...
You can't buy what you've been through.
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