May 2017
I travel trough the heavy rain
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey, these nights are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues
I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz
Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing
***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk
Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd
I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey, these nights are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues
I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz
Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing
***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk
Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd
I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill
I wrote this as a little homage to my lonesome travels. I fittingly wrote it on a train during sundown, but it's about my memories as a homeless teenager with no idea what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go, just that I wanted to go somewhere and do something. It's also about that longing for someone I hadn't yet met, that empty space reserved for someone you know you'll eventuelly meet. Luckily, this time I was on my way home to that someone.
I imagine this poem as lyrics to a jazzy tune. Maybe I'll get to try it out one day. I'm no great singer, but I'm reserving space for a trumpet solo in there somewhere.
I imagine this poem as lyrics to a jazzy tune. Maybe I'll get to try it out one day. I'm no great singer, but I'm reserving space for a trumpet solo in there somewhere.
