wandering the old city
it’s all tore down
scraps & heaps of what used to be
the train still runs
the preacher’s daughter still dances
and he fills up the empty tank
lonesome gas station
lonesome everything
he smokes a cigarette back on his front porch
the lady down the street with all the cats
she’s surely gone crazy again
lots to go crazy about
lots to be bored about
there’s nothing but these downcast tunes
rain drips on concrete
and the town folks look despondent
the world is a machine
it’s not an art film anymore
and you wonder why people get high?
reprieve from machine induced grief
bitter coffee, bitter reality
sweet release of chains momentarily
we are nothing except lustful poets & artists
sex & pop culture, drugs & counterculture
once you grow up, your heart dies
and we jus crave some sort of escape
cigarettes turn to ash as we are ash
fleeting pleasure, ongoing suffering
and the cowboy has his cowgirl
like i have my cigarette
and you cry in the bar bathroom
then buy a whiskey on ice
we are all drawn to certain ideals
we are all captivated by certain artistic pieces
we all need something to take the edge off
we all wanna look a certain way
we all wanna meet our soulmate
but for the moment, jus appreciate the moment
existence in this life time drawn on a thin line
Leave a Reply