When WeWere Free

It just occurred to me me that I never shared the song, well, the lyrics, since I had to hock my USB mic, USB controller,  and Ibanez guitar to eat, but I still have the lyrics from my horrible divorce period while I was working For The Shepherds of Good Hope.  It’s stretching relevance a but, but whose rules do I follow?

====== When We Were Free ======
Photo0012

It’s cold and damp down in the alleyway,
Where the crackheads huddle in their desperate dreams,
And I won’t be getting any news today,
‘Cause the lines are down across the gap, it seems.

Still, the micro-wave towers sing out into the sky —
All the passions of lovers, such as you and I … used to be;
When we were free.

A hollow feeling crept inside, and stayed,
Like the scent of sulfur at a midnight mass,
‘Til the storms of autumn blew it all away.
Left a broken bottle and an empty glass.

Now I know what happens when a good love dies.
I can see it, glistening in our daughters’ eyes,
Like a full moon rising on that Gatineau night —
We could almost touch it. But it wasn’t quite … meant to be;
While we were free.

And, if it really meant nothing at all;
We put on a hell of a show, girl.
Yeah, if it really meant nothing at all,
At least we’ve the got the scars to show,
And time,
To do it all again;
To get it right, and then,
We won’t remember when,
Love mattered more.

In a cul de sac on a suburban street,
There’s a wood-fire burning in a backyard pit.
I can smell it here, where we used to meet,
At a corner table, with a candle lit.

But the dawn is breaking, now, and I’ll be stumbling home,
Through the wreckage of a city I can hardly bear alone.
While the junkies and the whores,  know the secrets in my head.
You’ll be kissing them tonight, as you tuck them into bed … and I’ll be,
So God Damned free.ltown map

And, if it really meant nothing at all;
We put on a hell of a show, girl.
Yeah, if it really meant nothing at all,
At least we’ve the got the scars to show,
And time,
To do it all again;
To get it right, and then,
We won’t remember when,
Love mattered more.

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About Drakakis

Street Poet scribbling to your tired, your poor, your huddled masses; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, the homeless, tempest-tost ...
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