Wishing is Through

Every footstep is a moment forgotten,
stumble and fall and see who recalls.
A red orange sun drops into the ocean
and darkness covers the shiver of lies...
A four poster bed to hide deep inside of
and a bathtub of gin for my sad aching head.
Rings in their noses,
who tells the story,
begging for kisses of silver junk,
sirens sing sad songs of street corner glory,
gunshot percussion for Saturday night...
Each of my songs seems slowly to wither
and wishing is over,
wishing is through...

© Harley

Harley welcomes your comments!