The Travelling Merkin Vendor Blues

the lines on the road

between the towns

sing a sad song

a solitary song

of endless open miles

both ahead

and behind

i gotta pull over soon

i'm heading west

sun is in my eyes

water bottles empty

headache coming on

i’m half a country

away from home

living in a suit case

and a mini bar

rumpled shirts

rumpled sheets

and over eight hundred units

in the back of the car

the motel room TV is on

it welcomes the lonely

the road weary

and the tired

it's soft babble

a grid powered

synthetic distraction

a generic bed

in a generic room

in another generic town

kinda suits my generic mood

no illusions

have been burst of late

i’ve missed nothing

not left to fate

but i did have a stroke of luck

i sold seven to some kids

just a coupla towns ago

(you don’t know

how low

i’ll go)

but they are doing

a Snow White show

bit of a trim

and some stage glue

no one will ever know

trying to sell

the pubic dream

whilst maintaining

an air of clean

it’s not clever

it’s not big

and

just out of curiosity,

does your other half

need

a "wig"