17.2.06

The worst king of the hill

Who am I writing this to?
It seems so confused
It could be so simple
I could be writing this to you.

It was never a problem
Finding a topic
Or choosing a tone
It always sounded like home.

Now it's a distant connexion
It's a door left open
These ten-thousand sunsets
Each have ten-thousand meanings.

A drink for each and every tear
A speach for every spill
A good start coming to an end
Now I start naming things again.

Don't want it to stop
But it has to somehow
Like the worthiest prize-fighter
You left at the top.

What sign should I have read?
Kept my eyes on the road
Both hands on the wheel
But the engine was dead.

Dead as a doorknob
You killed it clean
Never saw it coming
Never thought I was that mean.

The worst understatement
The foulest odor
The weird and bipolar
Have all screwed me over.

But the sky is clear
Although I am sad I am smiling
I will soon become blind
My eyes are glued to the sun.

Don't want it to stop
But it has to somehow
Like the greatest war hero
You left at the top

It didn't have to stop
But it stopped anyhow
Like the worst king of the hill
I was pushed off the top

1 commentaire:

Anonyme a dit...

plutôt tropical...