Posted on August 21, 2018 at 1:54 pm

Fifty years started
In West Pennsylvania.
It could have been Paris
Or Rome or Duluth,
But fifty years started
In West Pennsylvania
And that’s how you know
That I’m telling the truth.
’Cause fifty years isn’t
Some fairy-tale story,
Some Hollywood horseshit,
Some old country song –
It starts out as nothing
And grows ’til it’s fifty years long.
One year is easy,
And five years, whatever;
And ten years, or twelve,
Now you’re starting to learn –
It’s climbing and driving
And giving up something,
And praying you like
What you got in return.
And what is this city?
And who are these people?
And how did we get here,
And did we go wrong?
But keep holding hands, kids –
You grew something fifty years long.
It’s fifty years fighting
And fifty years dancing
And fifty years chancing the wheel.
It’s fifty years reaching
And fifty years growing
And fifty years knowing it’s real.
It’s real.
Funny how someone
Looks fifty years different
But still looks the same,
Give or take, more or less.
It’s funny to think,
Eighteen thousand days later,
What you might have been
If you hadn’t said yes.
But look at us crying
And look at us laughing –
And here’s what we’re thinking,
In case it’s not clear:
If that love could happen
In West Pennsylvania,
Who knows what could happen right here?
So come tell the story
Of how you can do it:
It’s love and it’s luck
And it’s sacred and strong.
It starts out as nothing,
And grows ‘til it’s fifty years long.
You start out with nothing
And grow something fifty years long.