CONFESSION
Lately, I've realized that as a child
the sound of the air raid siren
never bothered me, when it sang of Fridays.
And that in the past,
I had been indestructible.
Things were just like that.
And now, every night I listen for a plane
And every night I hear it coming.
And when it does not come,
I go through the motions again.
Everybody dies sometime.
I die a tiny bit every day,
when I tell myself little stories
and when I am done
only that hollow feeling
eating at me from the inside out.
copyright 1977
the Dirtballs
BACK TO READING ROOM
the sound of the air raid siren
never bothered me, when it sang of Fridays.
And that in the past,
I had been indestructible.
Things were just like that.
And now, every night I listen for a plane
And every night I hear it coming.
And when it does not come,
I go through the motions again.
Everybody dies sometime.
I die a tiny bit every day,
when I tell myself little stories
and when I am done
only that hollow feeling
eating at me from the inside out.
copyright 1977
the Dirtballs
BACK TO READING ROOM