I sing of my past,
Like a verse from an incedibly popular tune
That you've never heard.
I sing of my past
And not just to myself,
But to all who surround me.
All who know me
Know my song
And can hum along
As I belt out another chorus.
I sing
And do not feel.
As though it's a cabaret
And this is my fourth set.
I smoke my last cigarette
And wish for one more swallow of coffee
And glance in your direction
Pleading for a sign of comprehension.
The drive home is just long enough.
3 Comments:
Wow, that's beautiful Stu. Did you just write that? I love it!
-- Dave
Wrote it last night - thanks, glad you dig it.
Me, too. I can hear it with a Tom Waits-style piano and bass accompaniment.
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