Author Information
Widow(-er)
One flight down
faith is blind.
From behind these walls I hear your pain
through the bell of a saxaphone belting out a jazzy tune
of broken hearts and love turned sour
(it's a shame when all you get from love is a love song).
What do you suggest I do with so much silence?
You wear your emotions low,
drooping off your sleeves to get them further from your face.
I'd sell my soul, pennies at a time,
just to have something to flip into your guitar case;
when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose-
and Lord you're good at immitating depth.
If I weren't out to revolutionize the world, I'd let you let go;
but I'm set on changing a generation afraid of the rain.
They always say I was born for a western sky,
with my moldy eyes that gleam with short-term resolutions to long-term problems-
if only I didn't fight from the sidelines.
On your stool, picking away familiar tunes, your glassy eyes reflect
your own, meaningless life without you ever seeing it.
Well you can't lie here any longer and I won't let you have it all.
What am I to do with so much silence?
