I'll be the whiskey that you used to drink,
if you be the good thoughts that I like to think
I'll be the paper you write all of your tragic poems on,
if you promise me you'll sing them like they've never been sung.

I'll be your late night till the darkness turns to dawn,
if you will take my simple words and turn them into song
I'll be the one who sometimes makes you want to see red,
but you'll always be that gypsy tune runnin' through my head

Standin' on the front porch smoking' Camel cigarettes,
favorite cup of coffee hangin' 'round with your best friends
you are the life inside the painting that is hanging on the wall,  
and if I didn't come here to see you then I wouldn't come here at all

old suitcases and the guitar strings scattered round the floor,
knives drawing notebooks and a bucket of dreams sittin' by the door
I will be playin' this guitar for you as you fall asleep tonight,
and you'll hear it through those paper walls in the early mornin' light

you can find her at the depot but she ain't waiting' for no train,
you might find her in the attic starin' out at the rain
she is as lively as the colors of which most artists only dream,
she's seen the bitter side of life before and its jaded her it seems
(c) 2011 CJM