They tell me there is a storm
way out in the East, NYC! you devil
and EVERYBODY knows it. Lord!
Nobody talks about the storm
I've been feeding since youth
except the psychiatrist who asked
the questions I forgot I had answers to
has it been that long?
I know I'm getting older,
but where are the memories placed
what is the residual of it all?
she asked and asked and I forgot
what I tried to remember
I still remembered what
I once tried to forget, you see
and not all I can see, baby
is the argument from this morning
my loyal apartment #7, I call home
maybe the clothes in the closet
the music I'm currently listening to
Mr. Nick Waterhouse if you ever have a chance
My job, my suits, my whiskey, the typer
my curious young boy, most of all,
is the certain reflection of where
we must be join' and that is the truth
and the ******* plants,
you gotta water the ******* plants, man
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
They tell me there is a storm
way out in the East, NYC! you devil
and EVERYBODY knows it. Lord!
Nobody talks about the storm
I've been feeding since youth
except the psychiatrist who asked
the questions I forgot I had answers to
has it been that long?
I know I'm getting older,
but where are the memories placed
what is the residual of it all?
she asked and asked and I forgot
what I tried to remember
I still remembered what
I once tried to forget, you see
and not all I can see, baby
is the argument from this morning
my loyal apartment #7, I call home
maybe the clothes in the closet
the music I'm currently listening to
Mr. Nick Waterhouse if you ever have a chance
My job, my suits, my whiskey, the typer
my curious young boy, most of all,
is the certain reflection of where
we must be join' and that is the truth
and the ******* plants,
you gotta water the ******* plants, man
Request permission to use this poem