Port Land
Why I Don't Write Music I can only suggest what the world needs now. one thing that won't make the list is another song where tomorrow rhymes with sorrow. Sometimes when I sit and stare out the window it looks like it's raining, even on clear cloudless days. I look harder, it rains stronger, Then, lifting the blind, I'm confronted with a warm day, in the distance, three folks sipping wine, puttering in flower-beds, and digesting monthly statements. No rain. Yet in my view, rain continues to tease, continues to streak across my eye's horizon, continues to tempt me to write a lyric. No rain, no song. I wonder about things like holes in my Jeans. First the pockets unravel, the small one for change is most vulnerable, Five years to wear through the knee, even a thin wallet takes out the rear right, and then the bottom of the right front stares back. While I consider the comfort of another pair, someone is paying twice the price for a new pair with holes worn like mine