Four in the morning the sidewalk's asleep
Dogs on the porch and spiders on the leaf
Shipwrecked by night, sailing through days
Nobody noticed the slipping away
Connecting the dots with thorns in his side
Boarded up the windows with pain and with pride
The music box broken that once was his soul
It's sad little song spinning out of control
Then came the storm that washed the roads out
Closed both his eyes and pointed straight south
Second line drums marched into the sea
While the clouds overhead cried mutiny
They parted for Cathy and her bitter news
As her words failed, the sky grew dim
Recalled how close to that exit I've been
Ours not to reply, ours not to reason why
Well, the news about William
The lifeline retreats, the desire for the breeze
The thorns in his side
© GOOD CLEAN DIRT; LUNADA BAY; WORDS FAIL;
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