|
Well, Tommy woke that morning |
|
with a headfull of rocks |
|
and Sylvia was in shock. |
|
The story they'd been faking |
|
had frozen on their lips |
|
and fallen through the brush of fingertips |
|
and though they packed their bags, |
|
ready for the road, |
|
the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stayed closed. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
this is a curtain call |
|
they've been running away for years |
|
but pride in flight |
|
precedes a certain fall. |
|
So Tommy rubs his stubble |
|
as if to check his face is there |
|
and Sylvia combs her hair |
|
just like nothing really happened |
|
they'll carry on as before... |
|
but this thing won't work, will it, any more. |
|
And though the bags are packed |
|
ready for the road |
|
the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stay closed. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nowhere left to hide... |
|
they've been running for years |
|
to find some kind of thrill |
|
to take away the emptiness |
|
that they both feel inside. |
|
Making the fictional |
|
out of the matter of fact; |
|
masquerade the picture |
|
but now the frame's all cracked. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nothing left to try |
|
they've been running for years |
|
to find some kind of life |
|
that offers an excitement |
|
that the rest of us pass by. |
|
So Tommy woke that morning |
|
with a headfull of rocks |
|
and Sylvia was in shock. |
|
This story they'd been faking |
|
was frozen on their lips |
|
and falling through the brush of fingertips |
|
and though the bags are packed |
|
ready for the road |
|
the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stay closed. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nowhere left to go |
|
they've been running away so long |
|
there's just no strength to carry on |
|
they can't get back to what they knew |
|
a life abandoned once and long ago. |
