the country road and the city streets

the wind is moaning through the skyscrapers tonite...i've heard its weary tone through the trees, but never through the cold steel-eyed mountainous towers...i am going to dunk my head in the cool crisp pond of regret before i ship off to sleep...to wake me for a moment and be alone with the crickets, the froggies, the life forms of summer in the country...i drifted slowly to sleep the other night listening to a lone owl's hoot through the empty caverns...i wonder where that owl lives and what brought him to this unforgiving city...i guess like me he was looking for the center of it all...paranoia punch, and the strange city faces...the ugly and uglier, just step out of your door...strange ain't it strange, hunchbacks and all...

parade of time

the sad eyed folks have me by the legs again...my body aches with acres of decay...another meaningless day on the planet by the sea...and the masses rejoice for dear old ireland...a place many have seen and fewer have known...the ice storm has subsided and the whiskey is flowing in these new york streets...i think of seventeenths past, where the glasses burst over with goodness, and there was sawdust on the floor...but tonite even the haunting music of the island cannot comfort me...for the shannon, the lee, the po, the ganges, and even the mighty mississippi seem to flow forever...sometimes gorged to their gills, sometimes merely a trickle...but much like us they are ephemeral, like a whiskey covered dream...

rainy night in yorktown

i see the lit windows
lime green on the wall
the clouded dull visions
your slip and your fall

and the bars on the windows
keep you out, keep you in
for the years of your suffering
for the years of your sin

fatigue has my hold
fatigue has my brain
my shadow projected
in shadow and rain

you wonder i wish
your slip and the fall
and bodies are tumbling
amidst deep southern drawls

the steel bars are keeping
you out and me in
the paint is a'peeling me
covered in sin

the world is a crumbling
tumble and fall
and the bars are a burning
paint peeling and all

you see the old lighthouse
palm trees through the fog
the white sandy beach
your legs in a slog

of shining white buildings
of moon through the mist
i am lost in your last night
lost in abyss.