I could probably use a cigarette.
No cash in the skin. No fuzz in the shoes.
No rattle in the sofa.
Damn.
Just another jones-a-day blues.
On the right days, in the right mood
an old skewer can take you places.
Keeps your mind off the fact that you haven't lit up
and banished your demons for several days.
Gotta get em out somehow.
Phone's ringing. Phone's still.
Stop expecting me to have something to say.
Some days my lips are cracked, and I'm afraid to smile.
I bet you were expecting some math.
Some rhythm, some flow.
Did I tell you the one about the whistling dervish?
Damn its hard to whistle with a mouth so dry.
Like rolling your face in glass just to ask for directions.
Its a lot like purgatory.
Just keep walking by the same rock...
when all you wanted to see was a bluesman
head to toe in red.
Not for any particularly mischevious metaphor.
Its just that in a sea of gray you miss the bright.
In a song of cold, you want the burn.
In the forced march of life
you just
want to