You looked nice enough
sitting there, having a smoke
talking soft despite hard tattoos,
and I wasn’t that surprised
when you said you had been doing time,
that old story
nice guy, wrong crowd
and now you’re up on your feet
out on the street, looking for a job
just trying to turn things around,
and we didn’t seem that different
guess we just grew up different.
time slips away
Hey, it’s been a while
how are you, how’s it going
I say with a smile,
but it comes out wrong
just like that old song
we sung once in a while;
that sunny afternoon
where did we go
dark city
The gold rush is over now
you wear the writing on your face
under your skin;
inner city ramblings fade
as they beat the drum
beat you numb;
its always a restless farewell
oh well
restless return
warehouse after warehouse
and smoke stacks in between
sprawling from the abysse
back home
as we roll on through
the highway’s choked full
fuming people, exhaust fumes
air is thick
I’m sweeping the floor
caught up, drifting off,
and I heard another one died
killed himself,
and I didn’t know him
friend of a friend.
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
Just Thinking 