It was just a song ago,
I sang your hallelujahs.
It was just a song, I know,
But I’d nothing more to give.
I gave it to you on a platter,
Made of guts and humors.
I set it there in hopes to shatter,
All your icy fears.
And you’ll never know the reasons,
Like I’ll never know the rest.
But your lack of all compassion,
Been only for the best.
For the best.
The outrage of the circumstance,
Was not that hard to swallow.
The smouldering inside our pants,
Could always raise a smile.
Yet when that fire whistle blew,
Well you never had no answers.
The volunteer was rather new,
And you couldn’t take that chance.
And you’ll never know the sunshine,
Like you’ll never love the rain.
You cannot find the pleasures,
Out there hiding from the pain.
From the pain.
In all your lifelong travel,
your sad compass never told.
The broken glass and gravel,
That would cut and callous you.
That road was built for strangers,
So keep your pace and your distance too.
For in standing still, the dangers,
They shall surely know your name.
When you’re out there on the turnpike,
Give my best to Kerouac.
I’ll have picked up all the pieces,
By the time you’re headed back.
You’re headed back.
“Midnight Sunshine” appears on Living and Dying in the Coffee Generation and The Soul You Save.
© and ℗ 1988, 2012 Marques Bovre