How Do You Dream?

How Do You Dream?

Don’t go believing, it’s just you that she’s deceiving

‘Cos there’s plenty who’re receiving, when the lights go down

Think about it later. It’s a sad little fable

Leave your money on the table, ‘cos it’s time to go

Back to your wife, who’s been living in your life

Like a good little wife from so long ago.

Where do you go my friend, when all your roads have ends?

How do you sleep? How do you dream?

Time’s underlined, all the wrinkles round your eyes

And your youthful surprise, has long since gone

No more fancy penthouse. Now you’re living downtown.

Deep inside a Brownstone, that’s crumbling down

Once you took the top tricks. Now you’re learning new tricks.

Just to get the next fix so you can cry.

Where do you go my friend…

Dream of a life, with another little wife

Another good little wife, but far away

See yourself down on a beach, everything within your reach

No more little kids to teach. It’s paradise

But you know that you won’t get, out there till you’re out of debt

Just about when you are dead, and bound for there

Where do you go my friend…

Dreams in the city, where the streets aren’t so pretty

Don’t attract too much pity, when you walk alone

They’re crawling on the walkways. They’re dying in the doorways

There’s always more than four ways, to kill someone

Can you see her on the ground? A chalk line drawn around

You see her hands are bound, but it’s not you tonight

Where do you go my friend…

Locked in a dance, a macabre romance

Like two lovers entranced, in each others eyes

Is that disgust on her face? Resignation taking it’s place

And you know that there’s no other place, to run to now

Was that goodbye in her eyes? As your hands squeezed just tighter than tight

Are you feeling the burn of the fires that won’t let go?

Where do you go my friend…

©W. Burn 2005

Elevator Man

Elevator Man

Talking to the elevator man

Ask him any questions that you have

Well he won’t tell you lies

He don’t pretend to be wise

But he’ll give you all the answers if he can

He goes up, but he comes down, down here

Where I wait, I wait for your whisper

As you call my name, call my name, just call my name

Or move me to madness, where I stand

Talking to the elevator man

Talking to the elevator man

Some solutions idolise the truth

While others have the shadows at their roots

But what he doesn’t understand

It’s not his to command

‘Cos he’s yours and he’s really in your hands

He goes up, but he comes down, down here

Where I lie, asleep in an echo

As you call my name, call my name, just call my name

Or doom me to die here, where I stand

Talking to the elevator man

Talking to the elevator man

So if you insist on playing games

Remember it’s not in his nature or his ways

To let everything go by

Without ever asking why

Is the truth so often hidden in a lie

He goes up, but he comes down, down here

Where I walk, I walk in your laughter

As you call my name, call my name, just call my name

And come break the mirror, where I stand

Talking to the elevator man

Talking to the elevator man

©W. Burn 2005

Motel Rooms

Motel Rooms

There’s a man who pours his head into a bottle,

Night after night on a leatherette stool.

And his heart comes sobbing through a shot glass

When he’s had one or two.

Too many to remember, not enough to forget.

All the tears that you cry when you hide between the lines

Of a life in motel rooms.

Well he spends his days with a credit card.

He’s just a business suit in a company car.

Talks ‘bout cruising singles bars.

Making out with Miss Lonely Hearts

She says “Loneliness has no cure, but everything’s got it’s price.

So look into my eyes honey, we can compromise

In the cold, cold comfort of a motel room.”

Now he’s sitting in the shadows with a snub nose

And a bottle of half empty wine.

In the darkness of tomorrow, he surrenders to the sorrow

Of self pity that is only killing time.

And he’s pulling back the hammer, staring into the night.

At the neon sign outside that waves a last goodbye.

To a life in motel rooms.

So the cops rolled up in black and whites.

All bullets and badges, flashing in the night.

They put him in a bag, tagged him suicide.

On page thirty eight, he was a couple of lines.

Is that all you can say? Are you sure you can spare the space?

But how can you describe the emptiness inside

Of a life in motel rooms?

So you run and you hide, hide behind the lies,

That make all the front page news.

While he runs and he dies, dies between the lines

Of a life in motel rooms.

©W. Burn 1995

Into The Dawn

Into The Dawn

She dances like a shadow, that weaves across a wall

Sliding into corners, gliding over floors

The candles hold her eyes in the flicker of their flame

She makes you want to touch her, as she whirls

Round, round, round

In spinning copper waves that burn into your brain

Take her hand, reach her heart

Lead her through the darkness

As the night dissolves into the dawn

Into the dawn

Into the dawn

She haunts you with her vision, and tempts you with her charms

You want to spend your life, dying in her arms

The candles hold her eyes in the flicker of their flame

She makes you want to reach, reach inside

Down, down, down

To where we learn to cry, and our fears have no names

Take what’s there, Tear it out

Lay it all before her

As the night dissolves into the dawn

Into the dawn

Into the dawn

©W. Burn 2005

A Chat With A.I.