The Wait

And I sit here waiting
as the winter waits outside
and I thought I should go home
then I thought I’d wait
’til the morning begins
then I will stay
another cigarette burns in my hand
and I don’t care
still young
still wild
still full of soul…
still waiting
waiting for the snow to fly
and the winter to burn
my car waits for me
unsteady but sure
as late as it is
I’m here
I ask why
I don’t care for an answer
I’m here, that’s all
the diner lights grow dim
but I’m here

(from “Part Four: Tragic Glorious”)

Ah, youth. The sweet freedom. I remember nights like this. Looking at my reflection in the window and writing on the inside of a cigarette package.


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