joi, 3 noiembrie 2016

Insomnia (II)

I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in.


I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
I've got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.

I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
I've got amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know

When I try to get through 
On the telephone to you
There will be nobody home.




I've got nicotine stains on my fingers.
I've got a silver spoon on a chain.
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I've got wild staring eyes.
And I've got a strong urge to fly.
But I've got nowhere to fly to. 

Ooooh, Babe. When I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home.

I've got a pair of Gohills boots
And I've got fading roots.



- Pink Floyd, Nobody home



Sometimes I want to be hugged and held tight but I don't know how to ask.
And if I would, I don't think I would allow to be taken care of.
On the bright side, toxic things are falling behind.

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