One more glass of suicide
then I'll walk out on my own tonight
through the abstract lawns or fair city
I'll see which way my shadow goes
I'll follow him down twisting roads
then we'll rest in the high grass
Lying drunk on summer nights
in a field of fireflies
nearly blind and too numb to feel
I say a prayer to Jesus Christ
I asked him for some sound advice
but all I got was the winds of ill
And then I slowly fell asleep
under cloudy skies
And the fog it did roll in
I wake up in the morning mist
aimlessly I start to drift
and I find myself back on Market street
I walked on through the busy crowd
until I saw an old man lying down
Men in white coats stood around him
And just before I turned my eyes
someone said "This man has died"
so I looked... Oh this can't be real
As they lifted him up from the street
I recognized the man as me
then I froze in the winds of ill
I'm but the shadow of the man
that used to be
eternal cast, limbotic paradox
I am the victim of a strange anomaly
I am the ticking without the clock
I hid behind the bakery,
a fat man walked by on the streets
so I followed him beneath the sun
I stopped under a willow tree
for its shadow whispered low to me
"When the night falls, we will be gone"
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