Like the rosary you wore
I hang a silent metaphor
hidden in shame behind the door
And all those songs for you I wrote
they are like wings that don't unfold
They longed, but never felt the wind
I recall on the night we met
How so strangely you stared
from behind golden hair
were we really there?
How we seem just like strangers now
in our prisons of distance and sorrow and doubt
I just want to get out
Now when this garden minstrel sings
one of his sad soliloquies
he's trying to tell you everything
He's laid his plot within your soul
but he'll not reap what he has sown
he's cast his seeds upon the stone
Do you still have all the poems I wrote
all the letters and lyrics I bled from my soul
that you hid in your home
And the last night I held you tight
your body was warm, but another man's fire
is what you desired
A true hidden treasure of a song writer. This gent has been capturing songs in demo form on old tape recorders since the 80s. . . and he's still capturing his magic sounds in his secret basement. Damien Youth