Not my home, never ever will be
A prison, no dear privacy none at all
Pockets filled with lint nothing to replace it
with
Just my hands while I'm sitting here
Clock hands wash away the hours
Something grabbed a hold of my soul
Things
just seem so empty as of late
I can't feel that the wheel will never move again
I can only wait through these times
Rain when
will it come?
Rain when will it come?
Work, dance that I do, will it summon the clouds?
Frown will I cast off this grey
sullen shroud?
Gears will they move grinding turning away?
Questions that I ask through these dreadful days
Rain, when will it
come?
Rain, when will it come?
I can't feel that the wheel will never move again
I can only wait through these
times
Glasses filled with melting ice and liquor
Ashtrays soon to be combed over
Rolling swirls of smoke do
twirl
Through beams of evening sun
