Friday, January 7, 2011

If I Could Find My Coat

Trail the blood from eye lid
Sweating salt palms grim,

There was nothing but absence
Signed and chained was for my protection
Broken was the pen
Guilty was the conscience

The jury sits in silence
Penance for the soul that hangs from your shadow
So you can march far from my words
Left void in the rain
But I am stamped and branded in your journey

In the end it will be to late
No turning back
You were to be  the coat on my back

But yet, you tore the buttons- into shreds.

While the funeral procession plays its last song
You call – to make sure that I am ok..

Let me tell you a story about planes
And real Kings.
The phone is silent
He doesn’t understand

No I guess you wouldn’t I said.
To the mad hatter man.

So vedova- he laughs,
As he sentences his own hanging

She wonders –
Why didn’t he love me?