Your voice comes to me
I close my eyes drifting back in time
of days by the waterfalls
of sunny days
and of youth that would never end
can we go back
if in a dream
a time-lapse image
of the man in black and white
who sang just to me.
I sit here now
hair grayling nicely
knowing those days won’t be back
they will not return
except in dreams
and voices from machines.
generations grow and move forward
childish whims left sometimes behind,
yet I sit here with the little box
and you croon to me
to light your fire
But I’ve a meeting to attend,
so fine sir you must wait
lord knows we can’t get much higher
just high on life,
’cause a random drug test would leave me home
watching your loveliness on you tube
while eating Bon bons on the couch
if I were to join you in the mire
of herbs and things taboo.
So sing to me Mr Morrison
and I shall make do
with memories of youth and days
that I wished didn’t have to end.
Back to the drudge
of another day in the concrete jungle
please send the crystal ship soon!!