You always loved the poets
though you never understood them
in the fraction of an instance
the meaning leaves you for good then
*
I wish I had a yearbook
to frame your porcelain face
Planned a perfect rebellion
to make our escape
*
But you never really loved me
more than a friend
And friend somethings are forever
Sunday's always dead
*
No one stays at all
in this abandoned place
they only ask for directions
back to where they came
*
It's so unworthy
Who am I to say?
But since I am the author
this to you, I dedicate
*
A fraction of a turn or
the stitch from a thread
I might have been
other than
*
Now no one comes to the store
And no one walks in the streets
And no one laughs for anything
but humility and defeat
*
They think it's really cool
to watch the suffering dead
who haunt these streets with valentines
Sunday's always dead
though you never understood them
in the fraction of an instance
the meaning leaves you for good then
*
I wish I had a yearbook
to frame your porcelain face
Planned a perfect rebellion
to make our escape
*
But you never really loved me
more than a friend
And friend somethings are forever
Sunday's always dead
*
No one stays at all
in this abandoned place
they only ask for directions
back to where they came
*
It's so unworthy
Who am I to say?
But since I am the author
this to you, I dedicate
*
A fraction of a turn or
the stitch from a thread
I might have been
other than
*
Now no one comes to the store
And no one walks in the streets
And no one laughs for anything
but humility and defeat
*
They think it's really cool
to watch the suffering dead
who haunt these streets with valentines
Sunday's always dead
*
Sunday's Always Dead Copyright 2000 David E. Arhar