
So when that window rattles clean
The old paint chips and mold
Making way for a better dream
You should score a subtle scene
With notes from pianos old
Climbing the curtains hung pristine
Let that song find a seam
And chase it with whiskey bold
To feed that drunken dream
Don't forget to tip her clean
Twice more than you were told
And never ask her what she’s seen
The truth is a wicked lien
And the evidence too hot to hold
Let loose that nagging dream
The curtains a dreadful color green
Were never meant to be sold
And windows are not just portals seen
They are always caught between



Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.