Fri Eve

It is Friday night, and I have had most of a bottle of wine – except for the glass I spilled in the bath.  I was reading Agatha Christie.  She excites.

 

Whenever I drink, even a bit, I begin to mourn for the creative genius in me that is stifled.  This you should not believe.  Be dubious, my readers.  I have little talent, except for getting by in a too cruel world.  But stuff me with drink, and suddenly I am Shakespeare unrealized.  I can hand you a dozen excuses for why I will never be a famed writer or performer, money chief among them.  They are convenient.  Do not strip me of them!

 

Here is a song lyric I wrote after watching a play.  I’ve seen two productions of this play, actually.  It is a lovely play.  It is called Drawer Boy.  Watch it if you have the chance.  Here is my song about it, which will tell you nothing.

 

VERSE

I look at the lines on our bodies

The graffiti of a hudnred years gone cold

The story of a lifetime not worth telling

One thing I never tought I’d be was old

 

I’m looking at a stranger’s hands below me

Though your face is still as petulant and young

As it ever was, back when it was

And I was too

Before the time escaped us and was gone

 

Draw for me a picture, drawer boy

Draw for me again

I want to remember drawer boy

As we were

When we were

Still on the hopeful side of the line

 

VERSE

It’s ok that we’re not getting any younger

It’s ok that things turned out the way they did

That’s the way the time goes, and I know it

And you’d know it too, if I thought you should

 

Don’t cry now Drawer boy, and don’t feel sorry

I’m glad we ended up here years gone by

The rest was just a thougth we didn’t finish

Too young to know the difference, then too wise

 

CHORUS

Draw for me a picture, Drawer boy

Draw for me again

I want to remember Drawer boy

As we were, when we were

Still on the hopeful side of the line

 

(BRIDGE)
Now the line is thinning

Like my hair and my memory and skin

And a new age is beginning

One that I don’t want to see begin

 

VERSE

And I look out over pastures and feel nothing

The land I’ve worked indifferent that I came

A season and the rows will be grown over

A decade gone, and none will know my name

 

But that’s the way of life, and we are living

‘ll still tell stories on the porch at night

And you’ll keep counting stars that go on shining

And in the darkness, everything is right