These two here in front of me
think he’s singing to only them
when he sings his loving lament,
they long from the tips of their fingers
tat they could be at home the only place
where they can play together until morning.
Its a strange loneliness to the old lovers
that the tune of their broken hearts would be
the language of a man they had never met.
When he hits the silken strings
that had tied them together the first day ever,
the married couple draw closer in spite
of themselves. When the elbow of his
shirt brushes the shoulder of the woman, a young
man on the other side of the room takes
takes his summer jumper off and asks
the barman to turn the heat down in the name
of God Almighty. The girl with the beauty
of sorrow in her face prays that he’ll be single
until he finds her. The night is shattered,
by the team of sirens, a line of squad cars,
ambulances and fire-engines on their guard
from the fire that can’t be put out
in the burning pulses of the all men inside
that are late to the funeral again. Beside the bridge,
the notes of loneliness that ripple through the air
above him are read clearly by the man
who is after jumping. The water is as smooth
as a sheet and there’s a beautiful wave of music in his mouth
that deafens to the worries of life.
The musician keeps on playing on the bloody strings
that stretch from the heart to the mouth of his guitar.
His lament is soft as the blanket
of the river, that has been drawn over us all.
i am done saying sorry for things i am not really sorry for.
here’s to another sleepless night..
i hate that i don’t know how to be anything else but lonely.