This is the story of a song.
It is a song that grew –
Running around the flowers
Bitter-sweet dewy mornings.
A song that tried
So hard – to break out
Into the world.
A song that hummed
Inane unheard fantasies
In a tousled head
Behind lost eyes.
This is the story of a song –
A song that found a tune
Among half-lit stubs
Of glowing cigarettes
And little toppling stacks of ash –
Dust grey and yellowing.
Among baby green blades
Of new grass – underfoot.
A song that flitted around
Untuned guitars –
Laying to dust in a sunlit corner
By a cracked window
And a misfit curtain
Canvas and the paints
Were lost somewhere in between
With the fifth string.
Between the broken semitones
Of an old piano
With a croak.
And lay to rest
In the folds of the draperies
Magic and coffee
On a winter morning.
A song that trembled
On drunk fingers
Yellowing skin and uneven nails
Resting against the keys
Jerking to life –
And then laying down again
Withered and wearied.
A song that died
On an empty gravestone
With a voice –
And a memory.
It is a song that grew –
Running around the flowers
Bitter-sweet dewy mornings.
A song that tried
So hard – to break out
Into the world.
A song that hummed
Inane unheard fantasies
In a tousled head
Behind lost eyes.
This is the story of a song –
A song that found a tune
Among half-lit stubs
Of glowing cigarettes
And little toppling stacks of ash –
Dust grey and yellowing.
Among baby green blades
Of new grass – underfoot.
A song that flitted around
Untuned guitars –
Laying to dust in a sunlit corner
By a cracked window
And a misfit curtain
Canvas and the paints
Were lost somewhere in between
With the fifth string.
Between the broken semitones
Of an old piano
With a croak.
And lay to rest
In the folds of the draperies
Magic and coffee
On a winter morning.
A song that trembled
On drunk fingers
Yellowing skin and uneven nails
Resting against the keys
Jerking to life –
And then laying down again
Withered and wearied.
A song that died
On an empty gravestone
With a voice –
And a memory.
4 comments:
song is my littol baby.
its fascinating how you managed to keep baby glowing till the very end.
you know its like some things never burn out...they manage to glow and do not have an end.
I'd always heard that ends marked new beginnings but never believed in those beginnings.
But its amazing how readind of this end has given me a sensation of new life around...its like the glass is brken but the fragments keep reflecting...good job...kudos to you.Aankhi.
and Eleanor Rigby you can feel her smile........
i always love the song.
The nails and cigarettes and booze reminds me of an old guitar teacher, he used to think that he was a hybrid between satriani, slash and kirk hammet. Oh how could i forget chuck berry and stevie ray vaughan? But he was not that good. One of his students could play better than him...and much better for that matter(I am not talking about myself...not with my present guitar skills at least)
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