there’s this broad road
paved with oak leaves
narrow sidewalks
curbstones like crooked teeth
and yet you run
in slippery shoes
with threadbare soles
to the rythm and blues
the rhythm swings
with the beat and sings
this last years song
a singalong that we sang too long
now on sore feet
next on sore knees
scraping your hands
graveled streets
with bleeding hands
you gather all your stuff
and you leave behind
what never brought you luck
you’re dashing from
shadows on
black painted walls
you’re reciteing from
your regrets on
a trees unsound bark
you’ll never know
when it will show
it’s face or rip apart
the connection between your
head and heart
and on that day
just be prepared
and spit the words right at it’s face
the words you saved that night that day
and if you raise your voice
you’ll might end up with
a synapse that will make you feel quite reliefed
but without a word to say
you will surely end up with
a million others that will leave you standing there
forever in grief
it meant nothing to them
but meant everything to you
before they changed it all again
the rhythm swings
with the beat and sings
this last years song
the rhythm swings on my blues and sings
a singalong that we sang to long.