They are there Under the stoop With a brown paper bag The familiar buzz A mother's gift Grandfather's watch With a familiar tock Rocking on high With familiar cries Smiling now in spite of what's wrong Or what's right.
I can see the wheel turning The consciousness Churning There is nothing else here No choice but what is Down deep in his Soul Buried deep in his brain Tis but a grain Called the truth Of our being
It's raining outside There's no one about Just droopy eyes and forever shade Pushing deep breaths Into a wet shiver That wash clean The salty drops Of a morning empty Except the shiny dew Of when I met you.
Making ends meet Chasing a hidden dream Digging out of depression Caring for their wife's cancer Raising three children alone Watching parents lose their minds Raising a child with epilepsy Grieving a suicide in the family Recovering from an accident Sleeping next to an unloving husband Coping with social anxiety Waiting for death Being afraid
That's why A call isn't returned The bill wasn't paid They showed up late Their part wasn't prepared She snapped at me He cut me off They didn't answer.
They put up a good show. Competence is their cover. So when they slip, It must be about me.