GREY STONE, SKY & BREATHING

Who needs a pick-me-up?
Well, there's whiskey at the bar
Pour yourself a healthy double -
Then drive off in your car.
Who's after a read of the news?
Mr Nomarks running for office
Looks like he might win
So step outside,
You're going to lose.
Walk out among the vitriol and parties
And tiptoe round the pain
And platitudes.
Someone knocked upon my door today
Selling truths for a living
giving his soul away.

I bought her emotions
She flew like birds
Into the sky and away.
Came back when
The memories played bad.
I took her sailing in winds
Neither of us could navigate
We do it now:
Her with the rope
Me with hope.

I suppose we alone belong to each
other
Clasped by hierarchy
Shackled to offices and machined
To the spirit of your malaise
Stuck in a microcosm
You deny, running parallel to
Your fascination of the same.
It's a weird existence,
wishing shit away.
it's a wasted world
Why we worry so
Why we worry.
I wonder, where's the wash
We were wringing out
Are we winding wounded
Are we walking with the world.
Well, some of us are,
Not all of us have loud voices
Spouting inferior opinions.
Carnival time,
Holidays come round
Laugh, live up
And wonder how life slipped away.

What becomes of papers
When they're used?
They get thrown.

What becomes of flowers
When their bloom is gone?
What became of the flowers
I picked for you
Now we're done?

What becomes of summer
When it pours?
Who needs a take me down?

There's gin at the ginhouse.
Let the love flow,
Stop wondering so much about rain: here's why:
Every day,
People see things.
mellow marsh and
Hurricanes, say.
we kill those things dead
Aliens couldn't settle here
There are just too many bugs
They could pick up
Or pass to us.
Or pass to us...
You passed love to me
And now I'm reduced,
Turned into, even,
Another person - another man.
Flowers all bloomed
I water where I can
Flowers, they bloom
I'll water where I can.
Flowers bloom.
Sometimes, we're weak as water
Add whiskey and we're done.
I watch the bluebells sway
In the green, green grass of the unknown.
And I see the grey blocks touch,
The foot of the sky.
And curls of yellow smoke
Spew out of the funnel
Leaving grey bells to chime
In the winter
With brown boxes lowered
Covered over with black mud
And watery tears fall
And feed the ground
Leaving green grass
To grow among the ghosts
And ruins.
And bluebells to sway
And grey stone
To touch the sky.

Doesn't mean I'm not aloud to fly,
In this time before I die.

I really like those times
When I hear myself breathing.