Sparky Kronkite
Spam Eater Extraordinare'
- Joined
- Aug 15, 2000
- Posts
- 8,921
The Long Goodbye
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
His voice tears
Over sinful street noise
Whispering a confidence
Giving a speech
His eyes never leave yours
He asks you to his parlor - you decline, then follow
Then…..
In his crooked walk
You both disappear into his little old house
But no one cares
No one cares
He’s such an odd old man
Drinking away his days
Days, like bottles
Broken and discarded
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
He says life is a crawl
Through bad knock-knock jokes
And missing prodigal sons
Life is sour and it most often stings
He says all things…..
Come with deliberate speed
Toward a certain, perfect end
He says all things…..
Are for sale at a reduced price
And all there is to really do
Is to mutter about what you hate
Even when you know it’s all way too late
For a prophet - such as you might have been
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
He claims to have wanted…..
To teach peace to the conquered and to tame the too proud
But now…..
That will have to be left for better men
Better mystics
Better legends
And left for those with a better sense of life
Because this old man
Is all used up
Yet he finds a smile….. and says…..
How bittersweet it is
To relax in ones own exile
Bottle by bottle
Bottle by bottle
Bottle by bottle
And this is his long goodbye
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
His voice tears
Over sinful street noise
Whispering a confidence
Giving a speech
His eyes never leave yours
He asks you to his parlor - you decline, then follow
Then…..
In his crooked walk
You both disappear into his little old house
But no one cares
No one cares
He’s such an odd old man
Drinking away his days
Days, like bottles
Broken and discarded
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
He says life is a crawl
Through bad knock-knock jokes
And missing prodigal sons
Life is sour and it most often stings
He says all things…..
Come with deliberate speed
Toward a certain, perfect end
He says all things…..
Are for sale at a reduced price
And all there is to really do
Is to mutter about what you hate
Even when you know it’s all way too late
For a prophet - such as you might have been
No “promise”
No “future”
No “yet to come”
No “arrival”
He claims to have wanted…..
To teach peace to the conquered and to tame the too proud
But now…..
That will have to be left for better men
Better mystics
Better legends
And left for those with a better sense of life
Because this old man
Is all used up
Yet he finds a smile….. and says…..
How bittersweet it is
To relax in ones own exile
Bottle by bottle
Bottle by bottle
Bottle by bottle
And this is his long goodbye
