John Anderson Poet Lyric

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Summer in My Pockets

Old ticket stubs and sea-salt still tangle in my hair,
I opened up a drawer and summer breathed in there.
The calendar says different, but my pockets disagree,
that summer in my closet won't let go of me.

I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
So I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face.
Not leaving, just not ready to give up the light,
I'm off to find some days, that fit what I'm wearing tonight.

Everybody's shutting down; everybody's turning in,
Everybody's zipping jackets; keeping chills in the bin.
But my skin still swears it's somewhere deep in July.
So I'll cherish some days that don't want to say goodbye.

I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
so I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face,
Not running, just not yet ready to turn out the lights,
I'm off to find old days that fit what I'm wearing tonight.

There's a faded little wristband I can't bring myself to throw,
from that midnight by the river, with nowhere else to go.
I can almost hear your laughter as we dipped our toes,
to let our clothes fall to the sand—landing where heaven knows.

I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
So I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face.
Not leaving, just not ready to turn out the light,
I'm off to find days that fit what I'm wearing tonight.

Maybe somewhere south of here, the daylight lingers late,
where the sun has no curfew, and the night can wait.
I'll follow every sunset till its final ember dies,
with a little stolen summer folded up inside.

Let the leaves fall behind me, let the calendar keep score.
Some things refuse to die on time—they linger at the door.
I'm not chasing forever; I'm not begging back what's gone—
Just lend me one more summer day, enough to carry on.

When Old Man Winter finally catches me, further down the line.
When the cold seep through the cracks; I won't pretend I'm fine.
I'll reach into my pocket to hold that old ticket in my hand,
and remember summer's somewhere, still warming up the sand.

Then my summer clothes, will still fit like they used to.
They'll still feel warm and loose against my skin,
still flow in the warm breeze on somewhere beach.
Just waiting for me to come by and step back in.

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