He had this way of singin’ 

That always seemed to sum it up.


All the mundane, the insane,

& the in-between stuff.


His songs sound like people talkin’

Or like the things we’ve always thought.


Like somehow the whole world

Was just an oyster he could shuck.


When I get to heaven

I think I’ll go & pick him up.


So we can smoke that cigarette 

& share the souvenirs we’ve got.


Written With Anika Pyle

When will it be normal

Not in a ‘new norm’ way

To go to work, to see a show,

To go outside & play?


When will it be normal 

To shop in all the stores 

Without a mask upon my face 

Or gloves to touch the doors? 


When will it be normal 

To shake a strangers hand

To hug a friend or 10 of them

To make a normal plan? 


When will it be normal 

To board a big jet plane,

A greyhound bus, a cruise ship,

Or a crowded subway train? 


When will it be normal

To see my grandma K?

I guess it wasn’t normal 

To see her anyway.


Since I am a-thinkin 

‘Bout what normal really means, 

Maybe nothing is as normal 

As normal ever seems.


So if nothing is as normal

As normal was before, 

Then maybe it’s okay 

That nothin’s normal anymore.