Wednesday, May 4, 2011

weekend for the working

Friday well past five, neon lights hum, blown stop signs, the streets are full
They’ve got their best friends, no hesitations, the city’s vibe, magnetic pull
You’ve got your silence, think were the time went, when did this heart, grow so cold
What would it take, to make this coma break, wake from its hold, grow from the mold

All you know is it's Friday, and you have nowhere to go

Saturday is yours to take, but you wait, hide in your plays, act the day away
They’ve got the audience, the blank screen, to stand against, packed matinee
You’ve got possessions, obsessions and distractions, slip away, from another day
And in the haze, you think of wanting to change, maybe someday, but not today

All you know is it's Saturday, and you have nowhere to go

Sunday morning tourist, take your shots, focus quick, watch the crowds walk away
They’ve got no time, a destination to find, a place where everyone, knows the name
You stalk and prey, decapitate and capture, the shadows that lay, trace out the souls
Take them home to catalog, jot in your captains log, you’re still lost, and more alone

All you know is it's Sunday, and you have nowhere to go

Monday through Thursday, not much more to say, just more promise, of empty days
They’ve got real homes, where the heart is welcome and warm, not just dry, tucked away
You hide inside from rain, sheltered from any change, let winds pass by, out of mind
Waiting for more, a knock at the door, a phone call from a distant time, a pulse to find

All you know is it’s another day, that you have no one to hold

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