you just missed it.
I was halfway to writing my masterpiece when I stopped to check the time. The clock had stopped at quarter to three and suddenly all momentum was lost. I turned myself away to face the crack that’s been growing on my wall, where a poster of a painting by an artist I don’t know barely covers up the holes of tenants past. I wonder if it’s grown, it seems unlikely but every time I look at it it feels re-drawn.‘Now’s as good a time as any for a walk’ I mumble to myself. Outside a not-quite-grey sky feels apt for a not-quite-clear mind. Stuffing hands into my pockets I search for the olive green gloves my mother got me six Christmas’ back. The ones with matching un-darned holes on each palm, The holes that align perfectly with matching scars caused by a high speed sledding accident. No Dice. In my mind I see the gloves sitting in the sock drawer along with an errant lighter and an old wallet I cant bring myself to throw away. I start playing games with the faces that I see on the road, checking myself out in the windows of Renaults and Toyotas and thinking about how I don't want to die alone.
I’m trying to work out what I wanna do with my time, Now I’ve got the choice. Sitting in bed getting stoned and lost the branches of the tree outside seems like a pretty good life? After five long years of shit I’m ready to find my feet, I want to plant them on the ground in a well worn part of town and get to working the beat. No more turning a rock over in my hands or ripping up blades of grass. Idle hands and idle time let the devil get to work.
Well the moments here, the moments gone and now the beer it flows like wine. You’re lighting cigarette after cigarette and smoke fills up the room. I feel, perhaps, I want to shoot my shot but all i’ve got is a poorly written line. Glitter balls and disco tunes fill my heart and brain and soul. Spinning to infinity, silver flickers in the air, a chandelier of crystal motes reflecting all you see. You’re singing nearly all the words to a very old song, words that you must’ve lost amongst the old best friends and city streets you’ve not thought about in years.
Cowboy Philosophers and City Boy Punks whisper shit in my ear. I don’t need more noise I’m full enough of the winding and purring of gears. Listen to that incessant humming, that long and powerful drone. Music sounds like noise and to me everything sounds the same. Send for a doctor or a poet or anyone who can listen to me speak. I wanna chew at their ears about the way the world turns and start pretending I feel more free. Another round before a walk along the moonlit old canal, back home the curtains wide, the windows cracked and the bed not made. A coverlet sits aside the bed that an ex-girlfriend hand crocheted, I’ll be alone again but not alone, I’ve got the the ringing in my ears. Humming a song the words are gone but the melody so plain. An evening breeze cools my soul and the the carnival fades away.
I was halfway to writing my masterpiece when I stopped to check the time. The clock had stopped at quarter to three and suddenly all momentum was lost. I turned myself away to face the crack that’s been growing on my wall, where a poster of a painting by an artist I don’t know barely covers up the holes of tenants past. I wonder if it’s grown, it seems unlikely but every time I look at it it feels re-drawn.‘Now’s as good a time as any for a walk’ I mumble to myself. Outside a not-quite-grey sky feels apt for a not-quite-clear mind. Stuffing hands into my pockets I search for the olive green gloves my mother got me six Christmas’ back. The ones with matching un-darned holes on each palm, The holes that align perfectly with matching scars caused by a high speed sledding accident. No Dice. In my mind I see the gloves sitting in the sock drawer along with an errant lighter and an old wallet I cant bring myself to throw away. I start playing games with the faces that I see on the road, checking myself out in the windows of Renaults and Toyotas and thinking about how I don't want to die alone.
I’m trying to work out what I wanna do with my time, Now I’ve got the choice. Sitting in bed getting stoned and lost the branches of the tree outside seems like a pretty good life? After five long years of shit I’m ready to find my feet, I want to plant them on the ground in a well worn part of town and get to working the beat. No more turning a rock over in my hands or ripping up blades of grass. Idle hands and idle time let the devil get to work.
Well the moments here, the moments gone and now the beer it flows like wine. You’re lighting cigarette after cigarette and smoke fills up the room. I feel, perhaps, I want to shoot my shot but all i’ve got is a poorly written line. Glitter balls and disco tunes fill my heart and brain and soul. Spinning to infinity, silver flickers in the air, a chandelier of crystal motes reflecting all you see. You’re singing nearly all the words to a very old song, words that you must’ve lost amongst the old best friends and city streets you’ve not thought about in years.
Cowboy Philosophers and City Boy Punks whisper shit in my ear. I don’t need more noise I’m full enough of the winding and purring of gears. Listen to that incessant humming, that long and powerful drone. Music sounds like noise and to me everything sounds the same. Send for a doctor or a poet or anyone who can listen to me speak. I wanna chew at their ears about the way the world turns and start pretending I feel more free. Another round before a walk along the moonlit old canal, back home the curtains wide, the windows cracked and the bed not made. A coverlet sits aside the bed that an ex-girlfriend hand crocheted, I’ll be alone again but not alone, I’ve got the the ringing in my ears. Humming a song the words are gone but the melody so plain. An evening breeze cools my soul and the the carnival fades away.