What is life but another boring epitaph
Bleeding by in the television glow
We have a lot to think about
Burning all our days in this paper town
Wings of hours fan the flames
As my reflection stares at me
Like God’s aborted experiment with sculpted clay
Wind blown dry dust away
Tangled in the silver web domestica
Waiting for the spider to take hold
I wrote my poems upon the breeze
They flutter from the branch on unfastened leaves
I am skeleton tree
Standing alone upon a hill
Scarecrow casting shadows in the winter fields
looming mulberry gray
Widow memory wrap my days in cellophane
Seal them with a teardrop from your eye
I am the ghost inside the page
Though once I was an architect of coming days
I was bad DNA
Now I’m a traveler of time,
Authoring the journey to inside your mind
With my cold churchyard rhymes
When I used to sing....
Emily Lane...
Carolyn Gray..
When I used to sing
Agatha Crain...
Jonathan Child...
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