Look at you in your wide brim hat,
Dressed in black,
Fingers dancing across the Strat's neck,
Easy as you please.
Voice of anguish and whiskey,
Telling me a story of one lost long ago.

I sit listening quietly, as the rain falls outside,
And a train can be heard lumbering across the tracks.

Your words take shape,
Odd stranger,
With hair long and black,
The shape is of a man recently sent free,
Deciding to walk through the roughest place in town.

I need a drink,
I take a swig,
The smell of pine like smelling salts for my brain,
The taste of fireworks and Christmas trees reminiscent of candies eaten on Halloween nights.


Then BAM!
You yell out,
Telling me of a poor dice rollers fate,
Like a siren's call,
******* me back into this sad, sad narrative.


And lastly of the visit,
The one dated to seal the protagonist's fate,
Of the freed man once again being put into chains,
A tale of Sisyphus best personified.

You lead off,
Leaving the bar room cold and empty.
I slide in another couple quarters,
And again you begin to play.