Jessica Says

Jessica Says

In the harbour where I stand, time slips through my hands

Grains of sand swept up by tides, oceans deep and wide

And now behind me lies my life, lights no longer shine

Shine, shine, shine

Shine, shine, shine

Jessica steps from shadow, says

“What’s it like out there, living on the edge of nowhere

As you try, try, try

Try, try, try

Try making sense of what is left, is it any better than the rest?”

Hand in hand to the water’s edge, she say’s “Come free yourself

From all the anchors in your past, live your life at last

In the way it was meant to be, as the Goddess sees

Sees, sees, sees

Sees, sees, sees”

Jessica throws the dice, says “Now let fate decide

Our lives through spinning chance

Whilst others dance, dance, dance

Dance, dance, dance

Dance round needs, desires and fears, looking for safety in a dream.”

Jessica throws out her hand, says “Here lies our command

So lets sail her to horizons wide, ‘neath a starlit sky

Steer her by our rising signs, find for us our time

Time, time, time

Time, time, time”

Jessica looks to the skies, letting the stars unwind

Spinning them round in her mind’s eye

Into lines, lines, lines

Lines, lines, lines

Lines that join her hand to mine, across that endless sea of time

And now, all worlds fade, time writes one more page

Of two destinies entwined, love between the lines

Fate now shall set us free, to live within our dreams

Dreams, dreams, dreams

Dreams, dreams, dreams

Jessica speaks in dreams. Says “Have you found what you seek?”

All I can say is “It was always there

In the lines, lines, lines

Lines, lines, lines

Lines that join our hand to mine, along a path the stars define.”

Jessica says

Jessica says

Jessica says

“Then come to me now.”

© W. Burn 2010

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