People ask me who I am,
And I happily reply “Cassady!”
Now, they don’t know what that really means.
Because people think of Cassady
As being a girls name.
Or rather, the gross misspelling of
“Cassidy,” the popular girl’s name.
A few of the older ones
Might think I’m a Dead Head spawn,
And others might say
That I drove the Further
Like a bat out of hell
In another life.
Still more might think of me,
Riding along next to Sundance
Talking big about Bolivia.
I think I like that one best—
And they’ll tell you that thinking,
That’s what I’m good at.
But sometimes I wish that “Cassady”
Wasn’t a name that had to be
Held up to all this scrutiny,
And could be someone that just was me.
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