SO IT COMES TO THIS
He slipped on his coat,
Put on his trilby hat,
Picked up his bags,
Met them at the stairs.
The dreams floated to his head,
Without a thought to spare.
He said this was the time,
Quit crying your heart out,
It's going to be fine.
I know it feels like treason,
This is happening for a reason.
No offence to you mate,
I'm afraid it's too late.
Don't say it's out of the blue,
You know it's not true.
Call it abandoning a sinking ship,
Call it running away,
Call it whatever some might say,
But it's not easy for me either.
I would like to say I'll return,
But I couldn't make a promise.
Indeed, it comes to this.
CROSSROADS OF THE WORLD
It can bring you up or take you down,
To the bottom of the cup it spins around,
Waking you up with the city sounds.
In the hopping city that never sleeps,
A thrill seeking city that never weeps,
But only for the ones who go inspire,
Then fatally fall to the fierce fire.
Even then the city moves on accordingly.
Floozies in the clubs with their smirks and tricks,
Call it at Penn Station after their quirks and kicks.
All so many numb and stumbling in the open blue,
In the covetingly cultured crossroads of the world.
The music man in the park with the coin bag,
Oversees a grumpy gambler making his bets,
Guaranteeing victory like Joe Namath's Jets.
I'm tired and can't talk in the green Cadillac,
The whispers behind backs and the loneliness,
Follows my tracks from the past we reminisced.
An old man in Harlem singing the blues,
While a man in midtown spins the news.
A look at a weeping widow in Brooklyn,
Waltzing rabbis in the streets of Queens,
Ends with a fox in the box in The Bronx.
Choked up wonderment my mind swirled,
At my feet lied the crossroads of the world.
IN THE CITY
It's a long ways away from Doncaster,
Going for the dreams you are after.
Those dim local boozers,
Same old friends,
Same old users,
Same old birds,
Long time abusers.
You won't see them around here,
Except maybe abusers and users,
And others of the sort.
Met a girl whose mum was a nun,
Or was going to be one anyway.
Come along and dance with me,
Leave your life when the drinks are free.
You can do anything in the city,
You can old hands and kiss by the sea.
Be whatever you want to be,
Save your regrets for tomorrow.
You shouldn't have those anyway,
That's what you get dealing with me.
MURPHY CLEMENCE
Along the dirt fields where the sun came up,
He stepped with the mild wind toward Dublin.
His chest puffed out and fire in his cup,
There was something grand about the boy.
Ragged brown coat and ripped up shins,
There was something sad about the boy.
By the school where the girls all stopped,
They were once so mad about the boy.
Then he fell out and nicked the corner shop,
They cried and finally had it with the boy.
A cigarette lit and two fingers up,
The bad will lingered as they parted.
Skint but with enough to fill his cup,
On his way to land uncharted.
Searching for the streams of rum,
Flowed through the blood of an Irish man,
Running from the man he had become.
SUNDAY MORNING HANGOVER
Molly puked on a beggar,
Said they couldn't be choosers,
She took him back home.
Curtis woke up to the morning sun,
Outside the cathedral of St. Paul's.
Lying on the pavement in puddles,
Made from tears and perspiration,
Last night's flightless frustrations,
One-Eyed Nancy's nasty temptations.
Passers-bys cringed and turned away.