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Birdcage
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Lord's Day
In the void they play your song
echoing endlessly, a sliver of time
Cold and waiting to respond with mine
I've always hated whited screens
the stupid hours, wasted time
21, dying and dreaming in front of mine
ink can blot out dried old paper
screams can echo memoried love
narrow roads and winding stairs
lead you through the tangle of
Sunday afternoon
I tend to think in borrowed phrases
Words not mine and other's places
Turn eyes to future places and want more than glancing faces
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In the void I found a voice
something silver, something mine
Gold is waiting to share your time
I'm old and done with craftless work
saving hours and spending time
22, waking and living now for mine
ink can blot out dried old paper
screams can echo memoried love
open roads and ghostly stares
lead you through the tangle of
Sunday afternoon
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