January 19, 2008

How All the Stories End (lyric)

I know you believe it when you say
you love me, and I know
your body doesn't lie.
And I know you mean it when you say
you'll miss me
whenever we say goodbye.

But I know, when you get home,
you hold her tight, and you swear
that she's the only one.
And I know, one day,
you'll have to stay away
'cause I know how all the stories end.

I've learned to keep myself amused
on lonely, sunny Saturdays.
I walk the streets in my high-heeled shoes,
and collect the glances coming my way.

I do my shopping, I read a book,
I go out for drinks with a friend.
I don't stay up too late,
and I've learned not to wait,
'cause I know how all the stories end.

You come over on another Tuesday night,
bringing roses in a paper sack,
and a few hours later, you say,
how you wish you didn't need to get back.

You give me a kiss, and you hold me close,
and you knock back the last of your wine.
You button your shirt, slip on your watch,
and blame all your problems on time.

You met her too early, and you found me too late
and you wish you could start over again.
I just listen to you, I have no advice,
'Cause I know how all the stories end.

And meanwhile, a few miles away across town,
she waits for the sound of your car.
She sets up the alarm clock and the coffee machine,
and doesn't bother wondering where you are.

She doesn't think about changing her hair, or read
what Cosmo says about holding your man.
'Cause you might get there late, but you always come home,
And she knows how all these stories end.

George Street on a Sunday

Six p.m. on a Sunday, and the Street
is exhausted and showing its age.
The occasional cigarette flickers beneath
inquisitive and prickly blue eyes. It is not yet dark enough
to bring night's seedy glamour,
like a broken-mouthed alcoholic swaying
on a stage, haloed by charisma and whiskey fumes.

Six p.m. on a cold October
Sunday. A day of rest
for the wicked, who must all be
recovering at home, like instruments
resting darkly in their battered cases, lids
flung over them, like
an entry-stamped hand
flung across pink pillow prints
on mascara-flecked cheeks.

In Kelly's Pub, a man without a name
on a poster in the window
plays passable if listless Ralph McTell
for two old men eating fish and chips,
a group of restless business travelers from Halifax,
and a guy at the bar, who used to play
with a band who'd almost gotten famous once.

Everyone wonders
what everyone else is doing here, and there is
a feeling of guilt for disturbing this weary peace.
Even streets need their rest.

One bad Friday night

The icicles form strange shapes in the air
& a cigarette is burning down
between my fingers -

a cold sort of fire,
and it will turn to ash,
same as any other.

I will go home and live my life,
the adventure over.
It had to end,

really, & really,
I am almost glad. I know now

where I belong. Not to this
burning dreamscape,
but to the concrete
facts of life. To truth,
then, let me drink
to truth. And to my life

The Difference

Like paints on a palette, only
a few shades apart,
swirling together in the middle
and discovering a new color;

like earth and the river,
butter and cream,
like oak and mahogany,

we compare and contrast
like children

into each others' toy boxes.

Come Away (Dreamloss)

"Come away, O human child,
to the waters and the wild,
with a faerie hand in hand,
for the world's more full of weeping
than you can understand."
- W.B. Yeats, "Stolen Child"

Come away with me, my love,
down to where the stars go dancing,
where shadows come to sleep
like children tired from play.

Come away, oh come with me,
to a place where the ancients linger,
where the breath of forgotten gods
stirs the dust that had once been
their temples and cathedrals.

We will dive into a sea
warm as the breath of lovers,
and hear the music rise
like mist above the hills.

We will listen to the sky
whisper like a mother,
and walk the darkened paths
where memories fear to tread.

"Come away with me," I cried,
and he smiled, and made to follow,
and to this day, I still dream
of his hand upon my hand.

"Come away - " but it grew light
as my world grew dark and hollow,
and so much more full of weeping
than I can ever understand.