All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
When I left my home and my family,
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station,
Running scared, laying low
On Seventh Avenue, I do declare,
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there.
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone, going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me, leading me, going home.
It's a still life water color,
ReplyDeleteOf a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.
Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.