I watched a live band
yesterday
my stomach churned
against its empty walls
digesting emptiness
and simply
feeling human
....again

With a voice
so mellow
it mesmerized
hypnotized
the murmurs
to a silence

A marriage of strums
carried feelings
embraced
every stander
with a certain warmth
that reaches the heart
I heard my friend say
"they make fall
in love with myself"
how delicate of a statement
to float amidst
the dark space
dancing with their voices

Something pure
was taking place
and as an audience
we have longed for
such a feeling
so foreign
to carry us a bit closer
to our very core
reminding us
that it's possible
for a heart to smile
to prove that
innocence does
still exist

"Who are they?" I asked
"Waynick" she said

Its funny how I can be dead in the brain
Only four hours sleep but still slaying stupid games
The people expect trust when its all turned to rust
Faulty; and your fault for letting it settle in the dust

Like hold up, wait a minute, you ******* me over
That logic you used there; are you certain you're sober?
Don't you dare try to pin your **** onto me
Just because I wont take a drink from a stagnant creek

I didn't come down in yesterdays rain
I know the difference between real and fake
I know when you're brewing an earthquake
I know enough to start making a change

I have the experience of a thousand words
Hidden behind bust lips, sounds left unheard
Vocal chords not humming, no six stringer strumming,
And buzzing like my phone does when lips start running

You could make a change too, stop and think
This relation is parched and needs new drinks
You've brought it all down, suffered in a drought,
Concocted some confusion and forged brand new doubts

I won't buy false gold no more, I'm no fool
Imma fix it up, but I need my tools
Stop acting like one too, start being a solution
You want me back? Well stop toying with my trust for your amusement

Esperando señales
me ahogue con humo
y rompiendo promesas
me dejaste sin fuerzas.

Mi guitarra llora
y se quiebra en soledad,
mi corazón se esconde
tras las cortinas asesinas.
Tu voz se vuelve lejana
y yo me pierdo en el olvido.

Guitarra canta conmigo
guitarra llora en re sostenido
guitarra llena mi pecho de tinta
y escribe más versos guitarra.

Slow dance with me
at 3 a.m
to the sound of rock and roll,
keep up with me if you can.

The notes of your guitar,
the way you play your song,
your hand between my thighs
makes my flower grow.

Messy black hair,
cigarette smell,
sweet ***** lips,
enchanting me under a spell.

****** friends,
he sits and stares.
Burning smoke through my throat,
he doesn’t even care.

Motionless wrapped in your arms
Is this another way of suicide?
He’s making me drool all over the place,
fast calloused fingers through the strings with grace.

Sitting on his lap,
I can hear his heart.
He could soften mine,
fill that missing part.

Black and blue,
I don’t want to know
who you’re playing songs for
late at night tomorrow.

Cause I’m only for fridays,
I’m only for fun
but it hurts so good,
I adore when he’s bad.

The door opened, he entered
There was a whoosh of air
The Bluesman looked bedraggled
And he grabbed himself a chair

Cy, came out, he heard the bell
Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile
He said "I see the storm is worse"
"It's gonna keep up for a while"

The Bluesman looked around the store
Saw a guitar on the wall
"She's an old one hanging over there"
He called to Cy, now down the hall

He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some
He said "she's got a lot to say"
He went back to the wooden chair
And the Bluesman, he did play

"There's lots of music in this girl"
"So many songs not sung"
He looked back at the hook behind
Where this old guitar had hung

He sang songs about Jesus
about freedom, and the moon
Amazingly for the guitars age
It wasn't out of tune

Cy went to the pawn stores  back
returning with a flask
He'd brought the Bluesman medicin
The Bluesman continued with his task

"This old girls a treasure trove"
"She's just so full of words"
"Songs kept hidden for so long"
"Songs just waiting to be heard"

He played some more, the storm let up
He thanked Cy, took his leave
"An old guitar needs to be played"
"It's lost songs to be grieved"

"You know that you can play her"
"Whenever you come by"
The Bluesman turned and smiled
He held the flask given by Cy

"That old guitar is special"
"She's an old soul, just like me"
"I thank you for the offer"
"Time will tell, we'll see"

The Bluesman left the pawnshop
It was if he wasn't there
He went out back behind Gianni's
And sang his music to the air