There is a great mystery
That likes to kick me in the gut
A shadow of those former things
Yet to be revealed
Chaining me to darkened fields
Roping me into midnight drives
Haunting me like winter songs
Ephemeral silhouettes of an eternal light
Say forever ain’t so long
A small hour scratch at the door
A knock from an atavist
As sitting locked in the inner rooms
A wisp of vapor under the moon
Fills me with a nameless ache
I can’t grasp what I can’t see
Don’t you see?
How can I tell you what I seek
When I can’t even speak the language
There’s no ghost for the offering
For even ghosts have ghosts here
There’s no words that I could bring
But I guess I’ll try:
The layer cake went bad in the fridge
It’s all one big lump now
All of my songs start and end with the same hum
How’s that? More?
I walk out to my balcony twenty times a night
Hoping each time to catch it
There’s a melody playing when the TV is off
Like an ice cream truck a few streets over
Don’t try to listen, you’ll lose it, Schrodinger’s song
3 am hangs its silence like an old painting
The stars smile, but refuse to reply
What need have those who live in the sky?
“What reason could we give this guy?”
But down on earth, in the dirt
Time slips by
It’s way too obvious a question “why”
How about something more original
Like who or what or where or when
Would it make a difference then?
Who really wants answers to their questions?
But what’s behind them – ah
There’s a great mystery