Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Broken String

I make briefings out of ordinary days
just to cherish every broken string
and every pent-up, strung-out emotion
that insists to suppress this brain of mine

so I just wish I had more time
to sum things up and take out a conclusion
of my red velvet hat
if only I had enough ammunition
to blow away my fears
then anything would ever get near my wardrobe
and I'd be free and full of dope
asleep for a million years

so I just dream of a late meal
and I'm still looking for death's phone number
maybe this time we'll make a deal
if she agrees to spend some misplaced vacation out in the woods
my money's short, but I know I could still
buy us some goods
and have a pretty fun time
no drugs or rain checks
only our squirrel friends in line

then I'd pretend to play your warm guitar
as well as mrs. DiFranco ever dreamed of
but death has killer memory to realize, so far
I can't recall the lyrics to your favorite song
so I'll just leave this camp of loneliness
and ride the wind back to my bed
still don't you tell me I'm a mess
just because I'm sad
in the end, home is what I always had

And I still make briefings of situations insane
shooting at the sky and hoping to murder a star
as long as I can't break any string
out of your warm guitar.

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