A Different Station

Their lords I stutter, they make me blue,
I don’t have one, or more, the way they do.
All that fills my nights these days,
Are thoughts of her and wicked ways,
She might recall the things I said,
The songs I sung before to bed,
The scrawls I wrote on twisted knee,
That hurted eye might finally see.

I still hold you dear my only one,
Surely until the day undone,
Who will there be to pay me heed?
To watch me ride? To see my steed?
To mend my arm, to shore my hip?
To plant a kiss upon my lip?
To know I always tried my best?
To put that statement to the test?

To kill the doubts that nag at me,
To zip my zipper, to take no fee.
To ride a bike that has no seat,
Just so us to finally meet,
And on that day that comes so near,
When trumpets sound and sky grows clear.
Their lords will speak in angry voice,
Telling me ‘boy you had no choice’,
So I might listen and suck their toes,
Instead I’ll stop to smell a rose.

And then I’ll hop a pirate ship,
And drink their wine, in one big sip,
And then I’ll ride a great blue cat,
So do your lords, they give you that?
The chance to ask what might have been?
If your bright eyes had only seen?

Trapped here I am like lone park rocks,
Forgotten like some missing socks.
I revel in those lords offended,
Their tired boasts I have upended.

I’ve tried a punch behind the glass,
and ended up upon my ass.

This is a simple game they’ve spun,
Already they’ve done gone and won.