late

And the pages are turning
books burning, engine’s churning
but whatever,
I’m still awake.

across the bay

another rainy night
and there’s bright lights,
and fireworks
in the distance;
flashing, growing, disappearing
with a dull cannon thud,
and its getting cold out here alone
with you

did we ever think of anything new,
or did we just put it all together,
in a different way…

this time of night

the words drift and float
to the edge of the page
and a breeze crossed my mind
then left in a haze

these people

all these people
caught up in their crazy little worlds
and I’m one of them

chasing tails

following like sheep
we could never stop to weep
or contently fall asleep,
again;
and when we realise
the the funk we’re in
we’ll be back there,
my friend.