Night's drawing near,
Rain in the air,
I am here
And you are there
The city's brooding
Behind shut doors,
Full of lame losers
And dames to kill for
Despair is simmering,
Passion stalled
Are you, too, shivering?
Are you, too, cold?
Light is a rare thing
In this sidestreet
Are you, too, wavering?
Are you too, sweet?
Drawing the line
In a cheap whiskey bar,
I do feel fine
Drowned in this tar
Winding up in a dead end
Is okay
After all, things do tend
To go the best way
I blend in with midnight,
Smoke in my lungs,
I like how in hindsight
My zeroes are ones
For all seems pretty
Until the truth's known
In this wet city
Dressed in stone
Cool jazz is flowing
Above the cold beds
Are you, too, growing
Dark weeds in your head?
Pulp
© Copyright: Евгений Буянов, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120100600078
Свидетельство о публикации №120100600078
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