Throw your feet up on a chair and hide your eyes behind a cigarette.
If nothing else it will give you something to do with your hands
when they won't applaud for love, and they won't reach in trust,
and they won't strike down, not even what you've had enough.
Here even the worst news comes across with a good view,
if only because it makes us move.
And you can drink me under the table.
I'll get high on every word that you give;
commit it to memory for the honor it is
to breathe
this smoke,
its slow-turn framing the scene,
and it doesn't seem
like anything
else in the room
at all can move.
Like nothing
else here matters.
... Disappear.
After all, tomorrow
a new city, and in ten years
it'll all seem like nothing at all.
But we could be wrong!
Our everything could
be tied up in this one thought,
this one dimly lit bar,
this one sorted conversation
about nothing more substantial
than the thinning smoke
we breathe.
Its slow-turn framing the scene,
and it doesn't seem
like anything
else in this room
at all can move.
Like nothing
else could matter.
... Disappear.
After all, tomorrow
a new life away from here;
this will all seem like nothing at all.
It all seems... like nothing...
It's all wrong!
Our everything is
tied up in this one thought,
this one smoked filled bar,
this one sorted conversation.
Memories, yellow roses we leave
for everyone we ever did love;
a light shone on those golden souls who deserve it most.
Yellow roses laid down on the graves
of everyone we ever did love;
a light shone on those golden souls who deserve it most.
