Go west young man and seek out the world.  

Go west young man and find yourself a girl.

Go west young man and live in your dreams.

Go west young man

                                     And be free.

Here I sit

On a train filled with passersby and individuals heading off to the their 9-5's

Here I sit

Looking around this old rail car at the different faces and different moods

Here I sit

Thinking if some are happy, wondering who is sad. Who had a fight this morning and who got the lucky package before they left

Here I sit

Heading home after my long night

My long night of mending dreams and listening to worries

Here I sit

Thankful to be going home.

The tips flow slow, just like the hot chocolate maker when its three quarters full,
you gotta hang on when you let go.

The TV's blare the news and weather and I know them all by heart.

Any minute now I'll hear the sound of paper feeding up,
and know a server girl is here, who needs me to fill her cups.

So I come off the counter and use my famous gun,
I pour the soda's and water quickly, but there's no need to run.
She's off chatting about the men at games looking but not touching,
So I go about my business and bide my time until at last my shift is done.

I sit here staring into the eyes of my soul.
He glares back at me through my reflection on the smoky glass.

He tells me without words my fate,
then I know what must be done.

I turn to leave but for some reason I can't.
I am drawn to look about the hazed room.

Empty faces leaking smoke laugh and cry around me.
I try to get up and run but I can't.

The death of the white clouded prison closes around me until I am engulfed by the fog.
Kicking and screaming will do me no good.

So I decide to succumb to this omnipotent force.
And finally the smoke clears and as I gasp for air,
I see my future,
burning like the small flame from a candle when it gets blown out from the wind.

Darkness covers me like a blanket of hate and death.
Tears flow freely from bagged eyes, then its over.

No more fear.

No more fright.

Leaving nothing, but the cool black night.

As I lay sedated upon my La-Z-Boy recliner,
cup of whiskey from my good friend John in my hand.
I slowly start to fade off........

and then I hear it.

A mothers six string crying in the distance.

I perk up my ears to make sure I'm not delusional or dreaming,
.....and again it wails.

Then as if touched by purple rain myself, the magic grows louder.
Suddenly a harp is being hummed and I swear I hear a saxophone singing the blues.
I look out my window and it's as if the top hats and tom-tom's are banging through the crowd.
Faintly, I hear that joyous cry.

Now it may just be me,
but there must be some kind of way outta here is parallel to having a dream.

I listen longer and I hear my sugar pie sing and my honey bunch smiles,
and for a minute I forget all about why this malted bevy was placed in my hand,
and I escape to a far away place.

To a place where Rapunzel lets down her hair for me and ******* and whiskey flow free,
but then as if struck by a sixteen ton truck,
I am snapped back into that place I was trying to forget.

And again I hang my head and cry,
because now,
it's just another day,
where I heard,
the music,
die.