Strawberry Lane

21 Jan

I sit alone in front of all I’ll ever know
painting days in painting time
my hat hangs near this funny rhyme
and by the window waits for wind to blow

my world’s a theatre of plays unplayed
words are heard and never read
I’m trying to rip them from my head
and endlessly I’m watching my parade

my blackest hair absorbs the cry of city light
my shadows live my shadows die
my hat hangs near this piece of sky
and where I live is only where I fight

the next door buildings always seem so sane
afraid to live afraid to learn
no, no, my freedom is of no concern
I’ll stay right here way down strawberry lane

my hat hangs near the cross-town train
the cross-town fog and mindless rain
way down strawberry lane
I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain
way down strawberry lane

© 1987-2010 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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