Waste of Paint
I have a friend, he’s mostly made of pain
He wakes up, drives to work and straight back home again
He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover
And I tried to tell him that he had a sense
Of color and composition so magnificent
And he said thank you, please, but your flattery
It is truly not becoming me
Your eyes are poor, you’re blind, you see
No beauty ever could have come from me
I’m a waste
Of breath, of space, of time
I knew a woman she was dignified and true
Her love for her man was one of her many virtues
Until one day she found out that he had lied
And decided the rest of her life from that point on would be a lie
She was grateful for everything that had happened
And she was anxious for all that would come next
But then she wept, what did you expect
In that big old house with the cars she kept
Such is life, she often said
With one day leading to the next
You get a little closer to your death
Which was fine with her, she never got upset
And with all the days she may have left
She would never clean another mess
Or fold his shirts, or look her best
She was free
To waste away alone
Last night my brother, he got drunk and drove
And this cop, he pulled him off to the side of the road
And he said officer, officer, you’ve got the wrong man
No, no, I’m a student of medicine, a son of a banker, you don’t understand
The cop said No one got hurt, you should be thankful
And your carelessness, it is something awful
And no I can’t just let you go
And though your father’s name is known
Your decisions now are yours alone
You’re nothing but a stepping stone on a path
To debt, to loss, to shame
The last few months I’ve been living with this couple
Yeah, you know the kind who buy everything in doubles
Yeah, they fit together like a puzzle
I love their love and I am thankful
That someone actually receives the prize that was promised
By all those fairy tales that drugged us
And still to me I’m sick, lonely
No laurel tree, just green envy
Will my number come up eventually
Like love’s some kind of lottery
Where you scratch and see what’s underneath
It’s sorry
Just one cherry
I’ll play again, get lucky
So now I hang out down by the train's depot
No, I don’t ride, I just sit and watch the people there
They remind me of wind-up cars in motion
They way they spin and turn and jockey for positions
And I wanna scream out that it all is nonsense
Their life’s one track and can’t they see it’s pointless?
But just then my knees give under me
My head feels weak and suddenly
It’s clear to see, it’s not them, but me
Who’s lost my self-identity
And I hide behind these books I read
While scribbling my poetry
Like art could save a wretch like me
With some ideal ideology
That no one could hope to achieve
And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me
And everything I’ve made is trite and cheap and a waste
Of paint
Of tape
Of time
more from before.
|
