Page 29 - Write Away Magazine April
P. 29
Carlos Whaley
Winning ‘Mens’ Lyrics From Facebook Group
Don’t Forget The Lyrics 2 A Strange Love
A strange house, Now, That, on long journeys,
A strange bed I know what he was saying. Each bears the other,
In a strange town, I could not have seen red Whirring,
A very strange me Before finding myself Stirring
Is waiting for you. In this strange, this waiting bed. Love occurring
Nor had my naked eye suggested In the middle of the terrifying air
Now That colour was created
It is very early in the morning. By the light falling, now, My inspiration for the lyric was
The silence is loud. On me, a girl who I knew in USA It was
The baby is walking about In this strange bed, totally unsuspected, intense and
With his foaming bottle, Waiting in the end. Suddenly she travelled
Making strange sounds Where no one has ever rested! and her hair was a reminiscent
And deciding, after all, factor for the verses. I want to
To be my friend. The streets, I observe, thank the English corrections to
Are wintry. Jason a friend who always
You It feels like snow. motivate me to go further of my
Arrive tonight. Starlings circle in the sky, own limits. And the poetry
Conspiring, syndicate its an entity we baptized
How dull time is! Together, and alone, in the 90’s I started playing in a
How empty—and yet, Unspeakable journeys band when I was 14 and I didn’t
Since I am sitting here, Into and out of the light. know much that didn’t go any
Lying here, further because I didn’t practice.
Walking up and down here, I know At 2 months I started seriously
Waiting, I will see you tonight. to classes and with the advice of
I see And snow several friends that I met on the
That time’s cruel ability May fall streets to learn to play guitar. It
To make one wait Enough to freeze our tongues wasn’t when I got to high school
Is time’s reality. And scald our eyes. that I met a group of kids with
We may never be found again! guitar and bohemians that we
I see your hair named the poetry syndicate.
Which I call red. Lust as the birds above our heads
I lie here in this bed. Circling
Are singing,
Someone teased me once, Knowing
A friend of ours— That, in what lies before them,
Saying that I saw your hair red The always unknown passage,
Because I was not thinking Wind, water, air,
Of the hair on your head. The failing light
The failing night
Someone also told me, The blinding sun
A long time ago: They must get the journey done.
My father said to me, Listen.
It is a terrible thing, They have wings and voices
Son, Are making choices
To fall into Are using what they have.
The hands of the living God. They are aware
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