The Girl From Yesterday
By: Cry
Day 1..
In a place where I play each melody on my mind,
I claim through the days that I've seen all the kinds,
all the shapes, all the colors..
the scars, beasts and beauties,
that there's no originality to be seen in the movies!
what we see is a loosely, sketchy version to life,
but today as I play, I find these words are a lie
and that there's no enemy greater,
or worse than the mind..
Day 2..
If only her beauty could be burned from my eyes,
and if anything here is to be learned I will try..
as long as I'm told of the girl walking by,
when I played my guitar..
and made all my complaints,
as I held up pickett signs that have my brain on display..
rubbing blame off my face, scritch-scratching it gone,
so they call me an addict - and I'm laughing it off..
stereotypical homeless, most are like that for sure,
and I guess in way.. so am I, past the dirt..
past the rags and no money,
wait - why am I thinking?
when that girl was so stunning..
so lovely.. I've never seen a speciman like her,
I've lost my will to play,
nothing's left but to find her!
I'm repeating my words.. my dog gapes at my side,
even he's looking directly where her face was that night!
and I stay up and try..
dying to imagine -
but in a way I could cry while denying it happened,
because frustration can't pry anymore than it does
when I try to remember just what morning light was,
what the streets felt like while scorching my feet,
before forming my love and courting my needs..
for this complete stranger,
not even remembering what it means to see later,
what saying hello is.. or even where home is,
I forgot the fundamentals of being this homeless!
it's hopeless, I'm blocking the useless thoughts,
tossing them all a harsh dismisal,
because against the girl from yesterday,
this all seems artificial...