“A Painting Hanging Crooked on the Wall”

There's a painting hanging crooked on the wall
Photographs are fading down the hall
And every now and then
you still can feel so small
like that painting hanging crooked on the wall

There's a beat up old jalopy in the yard
it used to be the place you'd park your car
and every now and then
you want to drive so far
away from that jalopy in the yard

There's a barely working TV on the stand
it long ago belonged to your old man
it's all he left behind
and you still can't understand
the bills he left you holding in your hand

There's a rusty box of tools in the garage
a dusty torn award from some old lodge
a place he used to love
a place you used to dodge
like the rusty tools he left in the garage

There's a bleeding in the heart from distant wounds
and the healing that will come can't come too soon
you step out from the mire
and reach out to the moon
and pray you'll get the chance to change that worn out tune

So you write another poem, still accused
and tell another tale to stay amused
and though you hear the gavel slam
you still remain confused
at the verdict that you wear for feeling used

Yes,
You're just another prisoner of the past
you once believed or hoped it wouldn't last
but you never could escape
from the shadow that was cast
long ago, when  once you ran so fast


There's a painting hanging crooked on the wall
There's photographs a fading down the hall
and every now and then
you still can feel so small
like that painting hanging crooked on the wall