Some More Lyrics in the Mediocre Tradition of ThomasJ

Worn out old cliche leans on the bar, anti-omniscient and
the narrator struggles to the car
Sits and transcribes faces, trying to capture all the spaces...

the wood and the whiskeyand/the cigarettes and the t.v. and
a drunken angel dancing on the bar

and everything is stories and everything is poems
and nothing really illustrates/nothing really penetrates
and every incidental touch reminds him he is so, so
far away from home

Seven hours and fifteen minutes dying in the circle of
her arms while she breathes softly in her sleep
and dawn is never dark enough to reconcile the raging gulf...

the warmth of the bedclothes/the ice on the windows and
the raucous passers-by down in the street

and everything is stories and everything is poems
and nothing really illustrates/nothing really penetrates
and every incidental touch reminds him he is so, so
far away from home...

I thought I knew who my friends were
now it seems that i just can't remember
and this age I feel is sinking in my bones...

So maybe once tomorrow night, I'll try to sleep without the light

let the shadows on the walls
be just shadows on the walls
and slip from fear to blessed eversleep

To let go all the stories and surrender all the poems...
where there's nothing left to illustrate/no secrets to infiltrate
just all this time and all this time just so, so
far away...

(Copyright 2008 - Thomas J Burbach)

much peace