Untitled (A Song For A Friend)

Gary walks down that lonely street, as always,
muttering to himself about all that pain and strife
that he's been keepin' inside himself
for far too long, inside like a scorpion in
a paper bag. He looks up to the sky for redemption,
only to find more questions tapping on his glasses.

That pocketwatch he's always got on him, its his papa's.
It stopped tickin' years ago, but Gary's never noticed.
It's always 2:14 for him.

There's a muffled hum coming from Tom's where a
jazz trumpet is makin' love to the ears of eager patrons
snappin' their fingers, tracin' ghosts' outlines, and livin'
to that cool cool groove...

Ba buh bababa boo o o o o bah...

and it falls silent

when they see Gary come in. Someone says,
"Man, th' World's been cryin' on yo' shoulder fo' far
too long. She done covered yo' whole body with her woe."
And with that he left. And the love started makin'
again. And if you looked real close,
even in the dark,
you could make out a pair of stilettos steppin' in agony next to
Gary's gray boots. She'd given him her coat, and
he was still freezing...