Dusk and shadow on the walls,
Soak up this bloody room and dusty overalls.
Standing here forever after,
In a town of sleepy homes and lost hopes,
I recall the time a stranger passed through,
And with his words he brought hope anew,
I doubted him at first but then at last I to,
Began to believe that one day i'd get out,
That one day i'd leave behind my bad dreams
And that ever present self-doubt.
His words were sweet and his eyes sincere,
But the town elders they began to fear,
That he'd ruin our town and tradition.
So one day they went down to Guns n ammunition,
To buy some peace of mind and rebuild their broken tradition.
I held his hand as the juices slushed through my fingers,
The hope that was torn from me and from all still lingers,
When the night falls and pin holes in its cloak light the town,
I look up and remember the stranger when he fell down,
The rickety wooden stairs to fall on dusty shores,
As he lay bleeding he told me to forget all that came before,
"Get out of here,
Get out of this place,
You are more than just another face,
You are more than what they make you.
You must live, you must live."
And now I sit on my chair,
Somewhere - I don't know,
Deep in your thoughts, anywhere.
I think that he was not a stranger at all,
He was the man in the painting,
My Creation; My Thought.
I draw him in a dusty room with painted overalls,
As dusk and shadow lie on the wall.... |
