snow bird backlit by a brick tower broken window eyes and mouth neither flying north nor south sirens police and fire and EMT it could easily be you or me but it does not move the snowbird courtyard secreted away in the city a gal on a staircase smoking counting up her old lays where you gonna go when you are old and your thoughts don’t link and you do not have control over nothing nothing comes of nothing at least be a questionable ruffian or a saint with a bedpan shuffling
where you gonna go when you really go into the breath of a million other souls I suppose it would be fine to be a light left on in the basement gloom so the kids aren’t scared at night and why do we think on this when the snow is glowing bright
on a gray bird drunk on a mash of berries fermenting in an alley and maybe that’s how your mind goes flitter flutter flitter
and the wind is blowing litter where you gonna go when you really go maybe where the muscle joins the bone or inside an ancient beast that swims down deep alone or the drip drip on the pavement of a melting ice cream cone (c) daniel sherman jones bmi
Writing songs is STILL fun...go Royals.
